One of Their Own
by Daydream1
Summary: The Romans had to meet the quota of Sarmatian knights that would be posted in Britain. She was the only choice left. Ketchia is raised as just another one of the boys, another warrior, another knight but she is still a woman in a man's world.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur or anyone appearing in it. Woot for me.

A/N: This is my first King Arthur fic, so go easy please. Thanks. :o)

The sun cast long shadows on the fallow fields outlying the small village. Ketchia whipped her arm back then sent the sickle in her hand slicing powerfully through the bottom of a clutch of stalks. She stood up and wiped the sweat off her brow, smearing dirt and bits of chaft across her forehead. Many harvesters were finishing their row and turning in for the day. Smiling wearily, she turned to the scrawny, tow-headed boy who was following close behind her, gathering and bundling the fallen stalks together.

"Saffer," she called, "are you hungry?" The six-year-old nodded excitedly, making his flyaway blond hair go every which-a-way.

"Yes! Very much. What will Mother make tonight?" he wondered and licked his lips. "Maybe it will be bird or rabbit. Rabbit stew, mmm!" He rubbed his little belly. Ketchia smirked and ruffled his sun-lightened hair.

"Whatever it might be, it shall be tasty, you know that!" She gestured to the straw in his arms. "Wrap that bunch, brat, and let's go find out."

He snatched up the remainder of the stalks then pulled a long piece of string out of his trouser pocket. After wrapping it tightly around the bundle, he tied a knot to hold it in place. Ketchia walked over and slung the bundle over her thin shoulders. Saffer, talking non-stop of food, danced around her as they made their way back to the village. She tossed the bundle onto the growing pile of wheat before walking to the firepit in front of her family's hut. Her older sister, Magral, sat beside it, raking the coals diligently. Magral held a protective hand her bulging adomen as she stood up. Saffer ran past Ketchia and plastered himself to the older woman. He stuck his ear up against her stomach.

"Hello, Driffle!" he exclaimed to the stomach. Magral sighed in exasperation and put her hand on the small of her back, balancing her uneven weight. Her other hand was placed with annoyance on her hip as her brother conversed happily with her unborn child.

"I hope you know that no baby of mine is going to be named Driffle," she announced, narrowing her eyes at the boy. Saffer beamed up at her and sunlight shone through the gaps made by his missing baby teeth.

"Driffle says that he likes that name," he said with sweet stubbornness and rubbed her stomach affectionately.

"You don't even know if it is a boy or not," Magral huffed and turned back to the fire pit. Ketchia was sitting next to it, inhaling the thick smell of roasting partridge. Magral watched her younger sister fondly for a moment. The girl acted older than her eleven years but was still much a child at heart. There was never much time for games or play among their people so the children often grew up faster, becoming independent and responsible early in life. Sighing, Magral called Saffer over and set him to turning the spit. She lowered herself to ground beside of Ketchia.

"How is the harvest coming?" she asked, taking up a piece of cloth in her hands. She made rope while her sister talked.

"Quite well, I think." Ketchia grinned and shrugged her shoulders. "Better than last year at the least."

"Much better than last year!" Saffer agreed enthusiastically. Magral snorted.

"You don't remember last year, worm," she snapped but patted his leg lovingly. The three siblings were discussing the day's events when the flap of their home opened and an aging beauty of a woman appeared.

"Mother!" Saffer cried joyfully. Galean had enough time to run a hand over Magral's brown hair before her youngest pair leapt up and hugged her, Saffer around her legs and Ketchia around her middle. She squeezed them both in a quick embrace. Saffer tugged on her sleeve as she began to inspect the partridge.

"Yes?" Galean questioned, raising her right eyebrow humorously. "Is it of the most utmost importance, my little weevil?" Ketchia and Magral shared smiles at their brother's expense. It was family tradition to call him whatever degrading name they came up with. Saffer became quiet as he thought it over then rocked back and forth on his heels.

"Yes, Mother, it is," he mumbled.

"Well then, tell me quick so you shall not forget it!" she insisted, giving her son an expectant look.

"I got a toad today!" he suddenly bubbled and pulled the creature out of his trouser pocket. Magral rolled her dark brown eyes and Ketchia giggled into her hands. Her brother's pocket held almost everything imaginable, from thread to feathers to food to live creatures. Their mother made a show of kneeling down and examining the little toad, turning it over in her son's palm as it puffed out its body and pretended to be dead. She turned her head so Saffer could not see and winked at her daughters.

"That is certainly a glorious find," she said, looking back to the boy, "but I believe it would find the open more likable than your pocket." He frowned and glanced down at the toad.

"I promise I would feed him and let him out and everything," he whined, wrapping his fingers over the toad's back. It squeaked weakly in protest and squirmed its stubby legs around. Galean reached out and gently took her son's clenched fist between her own hands. Stroking the little toad's bumpy head, she looked up at Saffer's face.

"But still it would not be free. It could move around and be well-fed, but it would have no freedom to do whatever it will." She covered her son's hands with her own. He, like her late husband, would leave to join the knights of Sarmatia, a fate little better than slavery, when he was of age. She stood up and kissed his forehead. "One day you will understand this better than most." Saffer took one last look at the toad then released it. It fled as fast as its short hops would take it.

"Ahem," Magral said, interrupting the moment, "The partridge is done." Galean gave her a soft smile.

"Then it is time to eat." The family was finishing the sparse supper when a cry went up around the encampment.

"The Romans are coming! They are coming!" Everywhere people scrambled up from their fires and ran to the edge of their settlement. Ketchia and Saffer gave their mother hopeful looks; they wanted to get a glimpse of the soldiers with shining swords and shields.

"Yes, yes, you may go. But do not make yourselves noticeable, do you understand?"

"We do, Mother!" they both chimed. Ketchia grabbed her brother's hand as they raced along. Galean frowned as she watched her children disappear into the crowd. There were no boys of age to be taken from the village; the oldest of the next crop were still much too young. Why would the Romans come here? She sent a considerate look towards Magral. Magral's husband, who she had met after his period of service, had died of fever the past winter. The child in her womb was her only reminder of the poor man. Galean leaned over and clasped her hand on her daughter's shoulder in support.

The Sarmatians watched as the soldiers cantered across the plains, their armor glistening with the remnants of the sunset. Interspersed between the soldiers were young Sarmatian knights from other encampments. Ketchia pulled Saffer through the group of villagers until they could see everything clearly. The Romans brought their horses right up to the people. Hard glares were exchanged between the groups as a legionnaire dismounted from his grey gelding. He walked up to the nearest man and declared with haughty authority,

"We have come for your boys." A hushed whisper threaded through the Sarmatians. The village leader shook his head.

"We have none of age," he replied in a voice like stone. The Roman frowned, his eyes narrowing at the man.

"Then we must have those closet to the age." He sighed as if this entire exchange was boring him. Ketchia gripped her little brother to her in sudden fear. "The last few villages had no male children and we must fill the quota set for us."

"We have none," the leader repeated. His hand rested on the dagger in his belt. The legionary saw this and his fingers tapped against his broadsword.

"Do not make trouble, peasant," he snarled and clinched his fist around the hilt. An officer trotted his horse up next to the solider, giving him a disapproving look.

"We may take another in the stead of children," he suggested, "if that idea is more pleasing to you." A woman stepped forward, her eyes of ice glaring at the Romans.

"What do you mean?" she asked. The officer gave her a patronizing sneer.

"Instead of young ones, we will take another," he announced. "A girl child or a knight who has already served his time will be sufficient." His eyes searched the crowd for the people he had mentioned. His eyes locked on Ketchia. "She will do fine." He nodded his head at her. Startled and scared, she backed away. He made a motion with his hand and pair of soldiers dismounted and closed in on her.

Saffer looked up at his sister's face. It was pale and her eyes kept the stare with the officer's. He took her hand and yanked her away while confusion captured the other villagers. They could not have Ketchia! He sprinted back to their hut, yelling for his mother. Galean raised her head from the conversation she had been having with Magral. A sudden feeling of dread captured her when she saw a pair of Romans following her children up the path.

"What? What has happened?" Galean demanded as Saffer practically threw his sister into her arms. He shook his head breathlessly and tried to shove the pair of them towards the hut.

"What did you do, Saffer?" yelled Magral hysterically. One of the soldiers walked up to their fire, his dark eyes trained on Ketchia. Galean knew in that instant what he wanted and it tore her heart out. She stopped moving toward their home and looked down at the little girl in her arms.

"Oh, Ketchia."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: No owning King Arthur or anything else dealing with the movie. Not even a poster. Wish I did. Oh, I really wish did. All I own is Dvd. Woo for bad English and zip emotion . Yay.

Shout-outs With Emotion!

Lirra: Hiya, Sketch, what's up? I'm happy you like my writing style (you've seen it enough), and ya actually wanna see what happens next. (grin) When're you gonna post a fanfic, anyways? Hmmm? (stares) And thanks for reviewing!

Miss-anonymous-13: Yeah, you really do have to see the movie. (grin) Too bad we didn't watch it at Shade's that sleepover. Thanks for reviewing! And are you still working on that Skitts fic? Just wonderin'…

Shades: Ah, mi amiga! How is? You've actually watched the movie, how nice! Yeah, Romans are jerks, except Arthur! (hugs Arthur) Thanks for reviewing!

Elvenstar5: Yay, you like the start! WOOT! Hopefully, you'll like the rest of the story too. :o) Thanks for reviewing!

Dazzler420: I accomplished something through elaboration, nifty:o) It was expertly written? Oh, thanks, wow…(beams) That is one of the best compliments I've gotten in a while. Thanks for reviewing!

BlackPaintedWhite: I like your penname. It's really interesting. :o) I'm glad you like it and thanks for reviewing!

JediPirateElfyDude: Yay, you like it too! That's like seven people who like it. Great! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thanks for reviewing!

I love reviews, they make me so happy! (throws out chocolate and flowers to her wonderful reviewers)

Chapter 2

Ketchia stood at the edge of the village, her family at her back. Her brown eyes studied the only home she had ever known. Each blade of grass, each tent, each familiar face found a place to hide in her memory, tucked away until she needed it again to remind her that she had something to return to. It was not much, but it was her home. Her gaze strayed from the plains to the Roman legionnaires. How could someone take her from her family and homelands and force her to wage war in some foreign country she had never heard of before, a place that meant nothing to her? She seethed inside, allowing her anger to momentarily overcome her fear. She jerked when a small hand slipped into hers. Her expression softened when she looked down at Saffer. No words passed between them since a goodbye would be inadequate. Instead, there was a simple reassuring squeeze before Saffer let go and stepped back beside their mother.

Galean's own rage was burning unconcealed on her face. She had done her best to dissuade the Romans from taking her daughter but no compassion had been spared. The decision stayed as it was. She put a protective hand on Ketchia's shoulder when the officer approached them. He smirked arrogantly at the woman before turning to the girl.

"Fetch your horse."

"I don't have one," she replied sullenly. Scowling, he looked back at his troops.

"Then you shall ride with one of my men." Ketchia stole a glance at the Romans and the Sarmatian boys before turning back at her family.

"I shall see you again," she promised. Galaen brushed a hand down her daughter's cheek.

"I love you," she whispered so only Ketchia could hear. A warm tear slipped over her fingers as Ketchia started to sob, unable to control herself. Galean stood up and stiffened. Her daughter could not be weak.

"Stop that crying," she ordered sharply. Ketchia rubbed at her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve as her mother nailed her down with an intense stare. "You must be strong, child. You will need courage and bravery to face these years before you." She put her hands on the girl's shoulders as if the physical contact could send her strength to her daughter. "Life will not be easy for you. You will fight but you will survive and you will come back."

"Yes, Mother," Ketchia mumbled, sniffling away the rest of her tears.

"Ketchia," interrupted Magral. The woman stepped forward, a serious expression on her face. She handed a thick bundle to her sister who clutched it to her chest. The Roman officer clamped a hand down on the girl's arm.

"Come, we will not waste any more time here." She didn't look back as he pulled more than led her to a bay mare. The big horse snorted at them, blowing the girl's hair into her face. Nearby, a curly-headed Sarmatian boy snickered. Ketchia frowned and brushed the wild locks back behind her ears as the officer released her arm.

"Tinus," he said, addressing the mare's rider. The legionnaire rolled his helmeted head around to look at his commander. He seemed bored until he noticed Ketchia.

"No," he grunted and gathered his reigns in his hands. He was about to pull his horse away when the officer's hand grabbed the mare's bridle.

"She cannot keep up with the others on foot," the officer argued.

"Then find her a pack horse to ride."

"She will fall off a pack horse."

"I will not," Ketchia's voice cut in. Both men glared at her and she realized that any noise from her was not welcomed. "I won't," she repeated softly. Tinus flicked his eyebrows upwards and a sardonic look settled into his countenance.

"See there? She won't fall off." He tugged on the reins. His mare, still held by the officer, whinnied her complaint. In retaliation, the commander yanked hard on the bridle. The mare half-reared and long, powerful legs lashed out against the man. Ketchia jumped away to avoid being struck by the sharp hooves attached to those legs. Tinus leaned over the mare's neck and whispered soothing words into her laid-back ears as she pranced around in tight circles. When the mare had quieted, the officer sneered at the legionnaire.

"As long as you are under my command, heathen," Tinus bristled at the word, "you will obey my orders. My order now is that the girl ride with you. Not walking, not on a pack horse, but with you." He snatched the back of Ketchia's traveling cloak with his free hand and dragged her over to them. "The whelp's all yours," he said, tossing her down next to the horse.

Ketchia landed in a clumsy sprawl on top of her bundle. She glared after the officer as she stood up, her hands brushing the grass off her clothes. A surprised squeal escaped her when she was hauled off her feet and thrown across the back of a horse. There was a shout and the convoy started moving. She barely had enough time to pull herself into the better balanced position of sitting rather than laying before the horse she was on plodded after the others.

"You would think he would take more care with a future protector of the Republic," Tinus mumbled to himself. Ketchia grabbed on to the back of the high-backed saddle as he nudged the mare into a trot. With a heavy sigh, she fell into the familiarity of horseback riding. The Roman mare's jarring gait was nothing like the smooth motions of Sarmatian-bred horses but she adapted, her body melding to the jerky rhythm of the mare.

The convoy rode on through sunset and into the cold night. The land was dimly lit by moon and starlight when they came to a stop beside a small river. Ketchia was leaning against Tinus' back, her eyes half-closed. She looked around blearily when the horse beneath her halted.

"Wake up, child," Tinus said gruffly. It was the first time he had spoken directly towards her. "Get down and take your bedroll with you."

"Where am I to go?" she mumbled as she slid down the side of the mare. The legionnaire pointed away from where the Romans had gathered to where the Sarmatian boys were making their own camp. She nodded her understanding and stumbled off in that direction. Her legs ached from all that riding, not to mention she was emotionally drained.

"You shall ride with me again tomorrow." Ketchia turned around to find that Tinus has dismounted and was untacking his horse. "Return here in the morning."

"I shall," she said and continued on her way to the Sarmatian camp. She was too tired to be nervous when she trudged into the midst of the boys. Someone had started a fire and she plopped down beside it, blessing the goddess for its warmth. She tugged her travel cloak tighter around her as it became soaked with heat. She was about to dose off when a voice broke through her haze of drowsiness.

"So you're the girl." She blinked as she turned to acknowledge whoever had spoken to her. Finding no one on either side of her, she glanced ahead. Her gaze was obscured by a pair of legs. She looked up the legs to find a torso, then arms, then a neck, and finally a head covered in dark blonde hair. "I'm Gawain," he said and sat down beside her. Closer up, Ketchia could see that he was a couple years older than her, maybe fourteen summers. He held out his hands to the fire but his kindly blue-grey eyes stayed on her.

"I'm Ketchia," she told him. She watched the fire's friendly dance then asked abruptly, "Do they always ride this far into the night?" He chuckled at her worn-out tone and rubbed his hands together.

"Yes, but if we're going to stop at all we usually we make camp at sunset," He leaned back from the flames, a small smile on his face. "I believe the lengthened ride was due to the earlier delay."

"Sorry," mumbled Ketchia.

"No apologies needed." Ketchia shrugged and waited for him to leave so she could sleep. Instead of going, though, Gawain unsheathed a knife. Holding it lightly in his hand, he fished a stone from a pouch on his belt and began to sharpen the blade. Sighing, she pulled back the hood of her traveling cloak and scanned the camp. There were boys everywhere. Dosing, standing, talking together. There hadn't seemed to be this many when she had left her village. Her eyes widened and she looked back at Gawain. "How many are there?" she asked. The boy jerked, startled by the break in the silence.

"Of us?" he asked and she nodded. "Thirty-two now, including you. There are only a few more villages to stop at before we go to Ostia."

"Ostia? We're going to Ostia?" she asked, now entirely awake. She had heard of Ostia, it was a huge Roman port city.

"At least to the port there," Gawain said. He stopped sharpening the knife and examined its blade. After licking his finger, he ran it down the edge. "From there we will be shipped out to our post."

"Where are we going?"

"To Britain. Or, at least, that is what I've heard." He lowered the knife and looked at her. "It could just be camp rumors." Ketchia chewed on her lip. She had never heard of Britain. A breathless shout interrupted her before she could ask about it.

"Gawain!" A younger boy skidded to a stop beside the fireside, throwing dust and grass into the crackling flames. He bent over double and put his hands on his knees, breathing hard to catch his breath. "Gawain," he panted, "Kay wants you." He glanced up and noticed Ketchia. "Who's 'at?"

"Her name's Ketchia," Gawain said, a smile lifting the side of his mouth. He motioned towards the boy. "Ketchia, I'd like you to meet my younger brother, Gareth."

"She's the girl?" blurted Gareth, ogling at Ketchia like she was some new wonder. "A little on the scrawny side, isn't she?" A big grin split his face and the firelight made the expression look positively impish.

"I am not scrawny!" Ketchia exclaimed indignantly, glaring at Gareth. "And don't speak of me as if I'm not here. I can hear and answer perfectly fine." The grin dropped off his face and a frown replaced it.

"Cheeky, too," he mumbled, crossing his arms sullenly across his chest. Gawain chuckled as he stood up, sheathing his knife in his belt.

"Don't anger her, Gareth, she does not need your observations," he told his brother, putting a hand on the other's shoulder. The younger boy playfully shoved him away.

"They are not observations," he mused, raising his chin in challenge. "They are facts."

"Like it is a fact that you snore like a cow with a cold?" Gawain teased as he shoved back, making Gareth fall to the ground. While his brother was momentarily occupied, he bowed his head towards Ketchia.

"We should let you rest, you must be very weary." After Gawain mentioned it, Ketchia found it hard to keep her eyes open. She nodded and gave a monstrous yawn.

"See you in the morning," he called as Gareth pulled him away. She mumbled something before pulling her hood back over her head and drifting off into an uneasy sleep.

A/N: Sorry it's moving so slow. I'm sorta just playing with my character right now. I'll pick up the pace later. :o)


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: YES, YES, I OWN IT ALL! MWAHAHAHAHAHA! (reality strikes) Le sigh…I jest. I don't own King Arthur or anything dealing with the movie or anything like that 'cept the DVD, extended edition. If they had made awesome little action figures of the knights I would own those. I would actually have a whole army of awesome little action figures and would reenact the entire movie daily with the awesome little action figures army but, alas, somebody neglected to make those awesome little action figures. Darn it.

Shout-outs To Wonderful Reviewers Whom I Love And Appreciate:

Op: Aw, thank you! No one's ever called my stuff pretty before, I don't believe. Glad you like it! Thanks for reviewing!

Shades: Hey, you're in Cali. now, WOO! ;o) Me and Sage are very lonely over in Xanga world with just the two of us commenting each other since everyone else is gone to. Yeah, Ketchia won't be lonely much anymore. Ha, when you write 'mon ami', it always makes me think of Gambit who makes me think of X-men 3 which makes me grin and giggle happily to myself! Thanks for reviewing!

Miss-anonymous13: Ah, Sage, you make me happy when you review:o) And you will one day watch the movie! YOU MUST! Or this fic will start to make very little sense, I think. And your fic will work, trust me. You're such a good writer. Thanks for reviewing!

Evenstar-mor2004: They're coming! You'll see a few more recognizable ones in this chapter. ;O) And now I'm updating. Woo! Glad you like it! Thanks for reviewing!

MissBubbles: What a complement, thank you! Yeah, Tinus is a little different from the others, but that'll all be explained later. Can't tell everything. ;o) And yep, the knights are going to stay young for quite a while yet. I haven't planned any time jumps at the moment, I love writing them as younger. ;o) Thanks for reviewing!

Dellis: Yeah, I didn't want them all to be sitting around and automatically know each other. I thought it'd be more interesting this way. :0) Glad you like it and thanks for reviewing!

BlackPaintedWhite: lol, get some sleep! ;o) I'm glad you like it and thank you for reviewing! WOO!

**Chapter 3**

The smell of burning food and rowdy voices aroused Ketchia into the twilight between sleep and awareness. She sat up abruptly when someone's boot stepped a little too close to her face. For a moment, she forgot where she was and panicked, almost scrambling to her feet before she remembered the previous day's events. Groaning, she sunk back down to the ground and covered her embarrassed face with her arm. After a few moments of laying there feeling sorry for herself, she sat up and cracked open one eye to look around.

There were two shabby bedrolls on the opposite side of the fire. The larger one had already been vacated but a tuff of scruffy blonde hair poked out of the top of the smaller one. She saw Gawain not too far away, rubbing down a grey dapple horse. Yawning, she arched her back and rolled her shoulders, shaking out aching limbs as she tried to motivate her body through small movements. A chuckle caught her ears and she glanced behind her. The boy that had laughed at her the day before was sitting on a rock, a smirk on his face.

"Do you fancy yourself a cat, stretching like that and all?" he asked, clearly entertained.

"Only in the mornings," she replied with little enthusiasm as she untangled the rest of her body from the cloak. Her face felt dry from sleeping next to the fire all night and it seemed to crack when she talked.

"Excuse me," she said and rose quietly from the fireside, trying not to wake up Gareth. Rubbing grains of sleep from her eyes, she made her way to the river. The sun had yet to rise but both camps, Sarmatian and Roman, were already waking. Gruel was being made over the stoked fires while packs and bedrolls were being gathered.

"Going to wash the ash from your cheeks, little Ketchia?" She spun around to find the same boy beside her, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he swaggered along. Stopping, she narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

"How do you know me?" she demanded but she was less than intimidating with a voice still groggy from just waking up. He met her glare with a grin.

"The entire camp knows you," he told her. "Or, at least, your name. You did tell Gareth, didn't you?" His expression morphed into the smirk he had worn earlier. "That brat is like a fountain; whatever goes in is eventually going to flow out." He snickered but Ketchia did not share his amusement.

"And who are you to say such things of others?" she asked as she started walking again. He tagged along beside her, his expression concealed behind his dark curls.

"My name is Lancelot," he replied, "and what I say of Gareth is true. If you don't believe me, which I doubt you do, it's your loss."

"Look, you, I didn't-" Ketchia whipped around to snap at him but ended up with the rest of her sentence stuck in her open mouth as she stared at his retreating back. Grumbling, she stomped the rest of the way to the river where she scrubbed the ash off her face and cleaned her dirty hands and arms. The chilly water dispelled any lingering notions of sleep the moment it struck her bare skin.

When she went back, she found the fireside occupied by more than just a sleeping Gareth. A ghost of a smile slid across her lips; in the dull light of pre-dawn, the resemblance between Gawain and Gareth, who was around her age, was much more noticeable. There were two others, but they were strangers. She ducked her head, thinking she might just be able to just sneak in, get her stuff and not have to meet anyone else this morning.

"There you are," Gawain said congenially the moment he saw her. "I was wondering where you had gone off to." She lifted her head and gave him a small smile. "Here, sit down and have this." He thrust a bowl at her. It looked slightly better than the other gruels she had seen cooking over fires and it smelled good too. Gawain grinned and tapped the side of the bowl. "You shouldn't worry. I had no hand in fixing it."

"If he had," a bulky boy began with a snort, "you'd already have keeled over from the smell." Gawain threw a light punch at his shoulder.

"You couldn't do any better, Bors," he said while Gareth rippled with laughter. The other boy, a tall, dark-haired youth, gave a half-smile.

Ketchia took a sip of the gruel and smiled with pleasure. It was semi-sweet and relatively smooth. She downed the rest of her share and licked her lips, savoring the last drops.

"I think she likes your grub, scout," Bors said jovially and nudged the dark-haired boy with his elbow. He shrugged indifferently.

"Don't mind him, Ketchia," Gawain reassured as he took her empty bowl. He must have seen her questioning glance in his direction. "Tristan doesn't talk much to anyone."

"'Cept his horse!" exclaimed Gareth exuberantly. He wiped his sleeve across his face and grinned broadly. "Tris talks to it like it'll talk back someday."

"It's a more interesting conversation than any I've had with you," Tristan muttered as he stood up. Gareth's mouth open and closed as he tried to come up with something smart to say while his brother and Bors chuckled. Tristan gave them a solemn nod. "You should start readying yourselves. We'll leave soon." He turned and glided away silently.

"We should do as he says," Gawain said and took the pot off the fire, setting it on the ground to cool. "Tristan sees more than the rest of us."

"Aye, that he does," Bors agreed. "I'm going to fetch Chaso." He followed Tristan but he was the opposite of the taciturn boy, shouting greetings at anyone he knew. Ketchia shook her head. Everyone seemed to be so different here than anyone she knew from her village. Except maybe Gawain and Gareth, she decided. They seemed to be normal enough.

She picked her cloak off the ground and shook the dirt off of it. She turned her head as the wind brought it flying back towards her. Putting it on, she started searching for her bedroll. She couldn't remember putting it down the night before.

"Ketchia," called Gawain. She turned around to find the blonde boy holding her missing bedroll. He lifted it up a little. "Is this what you're looking for?" Ketchia allowed a pleased look to stay on her face as she walked back and took the bedroll.

"Thank you," she told him. The grateful smile dissolved and was replaced by skepticism. "But why are you being so kind to me?" There could be many reasons and most of them were unappealing. Gawain shrugged as he picked the now cooled pot off the ground.

"As I see it, we, meaning all of us," he motioned towards the rest of the camp, "must spend the next fifteen years with one another." His smile was on the wry side as he turned his head to look at her. "We might as well start off as friends, not enemies."

"I understand," she said slowly. "I wouldn't mind having friends wherever we end up at."

"Maybe we could be two of those said friends?" Gawain said, grinning. Ketchia's smile reappeared but this time it was a truly happy one.

"I would like that a lot," she replied. A loud slurping sound came from behind them and they turned to find Gareth licking his bowl clean. He put the bowl down and raised his eyebrows.

"Well, now that we've established a sound friendship," he began, waving a hand flippantly in the air, "I believe we should all forget this whole fifteen year slavery idea and run away."

Gawain was about to reply when one of the Roman legionnaires appeared at the edge of their camp, yelling for the Sarmatians to ready themselves. The camp burst into frenzied action as campfires were doused and horses were prepared.

"Tristan knows everything," Gareth grumbled as he started to kick dirt on the fire, trying to put to out. Gawain nodded towards Ketchia.

"You better get going. Tinus is not one to wait patiently," he told her. She stared wide-eyed at him.

"But how did you know about…"

Gawain smirked. "Tristan knows everything," he said in a mimic of Gareth. When she just stood there, he gave her a gentle push. "Go."

Ketchia nodded before kicking her feet into action. She raced towards where Tinus had left her the night before, her cloak flaring out behind her like a flag. Tinus was there, as he said he would be, tacking up his mare with surprising care. He did not look at her when his mare nickered as she bounded up, energized by the short sprint. He just took her bedroll and secured it beside his own behind the saddle. Looking around, she noticed that the other Romans had camped farther away, leaving Tinus in seclusion.

She examined the legionnaire with growing curiosity. He was older than most of the other Romans, with broad, grey streaks highlighting his black hair and wrinkles that were making lines in his perpetually cross face, but besides that he was just another Roman soldier, identical to the others. There didn't seem to be any reason for him to be in exile, so maybe she was just imagining it.

"Come, girl," he grunted and she was immediately at his side. He watched as she climbed into the saddle with the natural grace that only Sarmatians enjoyed when it came to horses. She settled into place right behind the bedrolls. "Hold these but don't go anywhere." He placed the reins in her hand as he went to put out the last embers of his small fire. Ketchia rubbed her thumbs over the worn leather. It was warm from were he had been holding it.

Tinus was almost finished when the convoy started out at the sound of the shout. A tall chestnut gelding, the Roman commander sitting high in the saddle, trotted by the girl and mare but slowed as it approached Tinus. Ketchia gasped as a booted foot darted out and kicked the man in the side. Tinus jerked and groaned but did not cry out.

"Move it," the commander snapped. He turned his horse so he could face the older Roman. "The sooner we reach Rome, the sooner I can be rid of you from my command."

"Nothing," Tinus hissed as he straightened defiantly, "would give me more pleasure." He walked past the commander, his chin thrust into the air, and mounted the mare. At the click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the bay moved out. Its tail swished out and whipped against the gelding's muzzle making it snort and back away. Tinus rubbed a loving hand against the mare's neck and whispered his thanks. Ketchia tightened her grip as the mare picked up her pace to catch up with the rest of the convoy.

A/N: If I ever pick up my pace, it'll be a miracle. ;o)


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I am a broke, yet still mostly happy 17-year-old high school senior. This fact equals that I don't own King Arthur or anything affiliated with the movie. I do own Ketchia and a few other characters, that's true, but then again, they weren't in the movie. Didn't we already go over this, you know, with the action figures and the non-expressional declaration of disownment? ;o)

Shout-Outs To Awesome Reviewers Who Deserve So MUCH More Than Shout-Outs:

Cardeia: Your review made me all happy, warm-n-bubbly inside:o) Yeah, I don't want her to be "rambo-girl" either and I'm going to try and stay away from that persona. Though it would be rather hilarious to see skinny Ketchia running around in camo with a bazooka and a dangerous arsenal and picking off random woads with said guns. But I don't think that's going to happen. ;o) I'm glad you like it and I'm extremely glad you called it my characters and details rich! Thanks for the compliments and the review!

Op: I think if you hugged Tinus, he would be extremely weirded out and might skewer you. But you can go ahead and try:o) Once again, thanks very much for calling my stuff pretty. And thank you for reviewing!

MissBubbles: Gawain is a few years older than Ketchia who is around eleven while Gareth is the same age as she is. Yeah, the two of them are pretty fun to write about. (noogies Gareth who tries to run away) I wanna know what your idea about Tinus is! It intrigues me as to what others think of what's going to happen in my stories. ;o) Okay, Ketchia avoiding being a Mary-Sue calls for dancing! LIGHTS! (starts discoing across the floor with Lancelot and Galahad who are, in fact, exceptional disco-KINGS) WOO! Disco-ing knights, yay! Anyways, thank you for reviewing! (I think I'm sorta hyper at the moment…)

miss-annonymous13: SAGE! HIYA:o) Did you watch the movie? You never told me. Maybe I'll lend it to you. (stares at the movie box with wide, fearful eyes at the thought of being parted with her beloved knights-in-a-very-little-box) Yeah…maybe…Aw, thanks for liking it! ;o) And for reviewing!

Kal's Gal: (salutes) I shall keep going! And thank you for reviewing!

The Wild Woman: I'm starting to think my pace is okay now since no one's complaining about it. YAY! ;o) And you're enamored with MY story? Really? Now I feel all special again! (beams) All these nice comments are going to go to my little blonde head. Thanks for reviewing!

Furibondo: YAY, you like my style! (hugs writing style) I am definitely going to continue this. Mainly because it's so dog-gone fun writing it! Thank you for reviewing!

BlackPaintedWhite: Y'know what, I want a horse too, but my parents won't let me get one. Tis sad. I always wanted a black mare with a white star on its forehead with white socks so I sympathize with you! You guessed right in the whole 'telling about Tinus' department. I hope that part goes okay. (looks at the part skeptically) Wait no longer, the chapter's here. This is the chapter! WOO! ;o) Sorry, I'm a little out-of-it, I haven't been getting much sleep lately. Not to mention is 12:21 in the morning. Thanks for reviewing! ;o)

Evenstar-mor2004: A lot about Tinus is told in this chapter. (grins) Usually, I don't get beyond two chapters with my fics, but since this one has four, I think I might actually have a chance of finishing it. YAY! ;o) Thank you for reviewing!

Adena27: I have an "awesome" story now, that's great! (grins happily) So much joy can be reaped from reviews! Thank you for reviewing!

Shevaun: Thank you a ton! Your review was one of those that just made me go, 'Aw, yeah! I'm not just wasting time here! WOO!' So thank you for reviewing! I hope I updated fast enough. :o)

ShortAtntionSpaz: "When the city's finally sleeping, all my thoughts begin to stray, and I'm on the train that's bound for, Santa Fe!" Newsies, WOOO! My other great love in life! It's very excitable for me to see another Newsie-person reading my non-Newsie material. Thank you for liking and reviewing more story!

**TO EVERYONE:** Thank you all for taking time out of your lives to read and review my story. I really appreciate the feedback and it means a lot to me. Once again, thank you!

A/N: This chapter's going to be a bit longer than the others just because I didn't think it should be chopped up into different chapters.

**Chapter 4**

The next days were uneventful and almost monotonous. Ketchia's muscles became accustomed to horseback-riding, an endeavor she had not enjoyed since her family's gelding had died the summer before. The convoy rode on through the Sarmatian steppes at a hard-pressed pace, breaking only when the horses needed to rest or sleep was in order. During those brief periods of respite, Tinus would allow her to leave his side and search out Gawain and Gareth. She became at ease in their company, no longer guarding her emotions with such a wall of apprehension. While talking with them, she learned that they had been taken much earlier, almost a month before she had. Her village was one of the last few they would stop at. Bors would sometimes make an appearance and join their conversation, interjecting comments in his boisterous way. Ketchia grew to like the gruff but often good-humored boy.

Tristan, too, would find his way to their fireside but he was ever silent, rarely putting in his thoughts or joining in the laughter. Occasionally, he would smile but it was only half of the expression when he did so, as if showing full enjoyment was distasteful. Where he was not a great conversationalist, he made up for it in being an excellent cook. He would disappear for a length of time and return with a couple of rabbits or some other small animals for them to eat after he had prepared it. He never looked for the thanks they gave him and he vanished again the moment they had finished the meal. He was…strange to her.

As for the bothersome Lancelot, Ketchia did her best to avoid him. Luckily for her, he did not go out of his way to seek her out either.

She met or was introduced to the other knights as well. Gawain knew just about everyone in the camp and who he didn't know, Bors or Gareth did. Many of them frequented their fire, especially if they got wind that Tristan was cooking. Kay, one of the oldest among them at nineteen summers, was more or less their leader. If anything went wrong among the young knights, it was first reported to him and then he, in turn, would tell the Romans. He was attentive and kind; after meeting her, he had scolded Gawain for not finding her a pair of pants, declaring that it must have been horribly uncomfortable for her to ride in her skirt. Others had not been so thoughtful; a few believed that she would not last the journey, much less make it as a knight. To tell the truth, Ketchia was uncertain of this herself. True, Amazon blood ran through Sarmatian lineage but that did not necessarily mean that Ketchia had received any natural prowess from her female warrior ancestors. Gawain had picked up on her fears and had promised to start giving her introductory lessons in the art of sword-fighting.

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It was nearly two weeks after they had picked up Ketchia when the convoy halted again to recruit a trio of boys. It was an easy transaction, unlike the one at Ketchia's village. They had seen the convoy coming from a distance and had prepared themselves. They were mounted and ready to be off when the Romans arrived. Two of them were ordinary boys but the third…everyone gaped at him. He was enormous, a head taller than his companions with more muscle than a young ox. An axe monstrous enough to match his size was strapped to his back, its dangerous edge flashing in the sunlight above his shoulder. Someone let out a low whistle and Ketchia nodded her head in awed agreement. It was a good thing that he was compliant; she doubted that all the Roman legionnaires combined could control him. The trio, with him at the head, joined the ranks near the back. The young knights stole glances at them whenever they could.

The next break, Ketchia slid off the side of the mare and looked imploringly at Tinus. He nodded his permission and she shot off towards the other Sarmatians. She skidded to a stop next to the brothers' dapple gelding, Jalden. Gawain was standing on the other side of the horse, toying with the bridle; he peered over the worn saddle at her.

"Good riding?" he asked. Ketchia would have answered if Gareth had not grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.

"Did you see that boy?" he demanded, his blue eyes like discs. He was jumpy with excitement and his arms moved in a flurry of motions as he talked. "He's as big as a mountain! He looked like he could snap you in two as soon as look at you!"

"If he snaps anyone in half, hopefully it'll be you, runt," Bors teased as he led Chaso, his black stallion, over to them. Gareth scowled.

"Yeah, well, I bet it's you instead," he grumbled. He jabbed a finger at Bors who only showed jocularity. "Yeah, 'cause if he did and he wanted to eat you," he continued, crossing his arms smugly, "there would be more of you than me."

"Gareth," Gawain said, shaking his head as he walked around Jalden. "That made no sense. At all."

"Besides," Ketchia put in, "I don't know if he could lift Bors enough to snap him." A smirk touched the corners of her mouth and crept into her brown eyes. Bors stared at her then guffawed.

"So, you've been hiding that humor, eh, Ketchia?" He slapped her on the back, making her stumble. Gawain caught and steadied her as Bors grinned mirthfully. "You better let it out more often!"

"Only if you promise not to hit me again," she grumbled, rubbing her now stinging back. Bors chuckled.

"Fair enough." He scanned the scattered knights, eyes narrowed. "Where'd the giant go, anyways?"

"He's right here," a deep voice rumbled. Bors jolted a bit as he saw the huge warrior standing nearby, holding the reins of a hulking, russet gelding. None of them had noticed his approach; Ketchia was amazed that such a large person could be so quiet. "And he wouldn't snap anyone in half." Gareth stepped back as grey eyes landed on him meaningfully.

"I, um, I didn't-" he stammered meekly. He took another scuffling step backwards. Gawain put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from escaping.

"What my brother here means to say," he said, tightening his grip. Gareth winced and tried to pull away but Gawain did not let go or loosen his iron grasp. "is that he's an idiot and his mouth moves before his mind can tell it to stop." Gareth shot him an awful glare but it was ignored.

"I have seen many afflicted with that malady," the huge lad said with a labored sigh.

'_This must be a common situation for him,'_ Ketchia thought and felt a chord of sympathy for the warrior youth. The same reaction would likely become familiar to her also as the only female knight among a crowd of men.

"So, giant, what be your name?" Bors asked abruptly without any malice or taunt to his words. Still, both Ketchia and Gawain gave him a disapproving look. He winked back.

"Dagonet," the youth replied quietly, rubbing his horse's soft nose. He glanced up. "And you are?" Bors puffed out his chest proudly.

"I'm Bors-"

"The very loud and fat!" Gareth interrupted brightly. He flashed a roguish grin and darted away as Bors lunged for him.

"You bedamned demon, wait 'til I get my fists on you!" Bors roared as he barreled after the younger, more agile boy who was taunting him with distorted faces. Gawain rolled his eyes in exasperation and stepped forward.

"I am Gawain and that," he said, nodding his head towards Gareth, "I hate to say, is Gareth who, you might have gathered, is my brother."

"Your name, little maiden?" Dagonet asked when Ketchia stood silent, half hidden behind Gawain. She blinked at being called a maiden; she looked much more like a crazed barbarian girl who was wearing pants, had skin coated in mud and dirt, and sported scraggly hair that had not been combed in ages.

"Ketchia," she replied, catching his gaze. He nodded.

"And are you here as a healer or 'entertainment'?" he questioned. His lips curled into a fierce scowl at the word. It would be a very Roman idea to bring a girl child along for just that purpose.

"She is here to be a knight," Gawain announced and narrowed his eyes, as if daring the much larger boy to say anything. Dagonet nodded again.

"That is a much more honorable position," he said. Ketchia smiled at him; he had just earned a good portion of her respect.

"GAWAIN!" Gareth suddenly called out in what was more of a shriek than a shout. Gawain started, his eyes flashing around worriedly for his brother while he brandished his knife.

"No, Gawain, he's fine," Ketchia quickly soothed as she took his shoulder and turned him around, lowering his readied arm in the process. He sighed with annoyed relief and stuffed the knife back in his belt. Nothing had happened except that Bors had finally caught up with the imp and was now sitting on his back, gradually squashing him into the ground. A crowd yelling encouragement to Bors was gathering while Gareth pounded on the dirt with clenched fists.

"Get off me!" He shouted in hoarse rage. "Bors, you're going to crush me! I'm going to die! GAWAIN!"

"Well that saves me the trouble of killing him, now doesn't it?" Gawain growled as he stormed off to grudgingly rescue his brother. Ketchia covered her giggles with the palm of her hand and Dagonet smiled.

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Ketchia watched the plains crawl by at an achingly slow rate as the convoy inched its way across a particularly rocky area of Sarmatia. Since Tinus always rode in the very back, there was also no one to talk to, making the ride nearly unbearable. Well, that wasn't entirely true. She considered the back of Tinus' glaringly bright helmet in desperation. Their conversations had always been brisk and about where she was to go or what she was to do and not do. Neither of them had ever tried to actually talk at length with the other and she was not sure if Tinus would appreciate her breaching that tradition. Weighing that against the tedium of the day's ride, she decided to chance a conversation.

"Tinus?" she whispered. It became apparent that he was not going to answer her, so, thinking the thick helmet must be the problem, she repeated his name louder. This time, she was rewarded by him turning his head slightly to the side.

"What?" he answered gruffly. She bit her lip in hesitation. She had not really given any thought to what they would talk about. She had not really believed she would get that far.

"What do you want, girl?" Tinus demanded. She decided to say the first thing that came to mind.

"My name," she declared with a definite air, "is Ketchia." There was silence then an amused snort.

"Is that all?"

"Why do the other soldiers seem to hate you?" The split-second after it had burst from her, she gasped and clamped a hand down on her loose mouth. Gareth was rubbing off on her in all the wrong ways! Seeing Tinus endure abuse daily since she had joined the knights had always made her inquisitive as to what prompted such cruelty, but actually voicing her question had never crossed her mind. A furious blush burned her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, sir, that was not my place. I was curious, I did not mean to. Forgive me," she blabbered hastily. A brusque laugh interrupted her apology.

"Hush, child, you are the first brave enough to ask." The mare stumbled against a rock and both of them shifted to regain their balance.

"It is not as mysterious as you might think. I simply believe differently than they do." Tinus sighed laboriously. "My family has long held on to the original religion of our people, the knowledge of Jupiter and Apollo and Lady Minerva. Romans once all believed that many deities reign over our lives, not just one."

"Like us," she said in understanding. "We believe in the goddess but we also believe in other gods and goddesses."

"Yes, much like that," he replied. "But you are not persecuted for you beliefs." His voice suddenly dripped with barely repressed fury. "Yours are just considered pagan ignorance. Mine are blasphemous." Ketchia felt a pang of defensiveness for her religion but she knew that now was not the time.

"Why?" she asked instead.

"You truly are a curious one, aren't you?" He snorted again then continued. "The Romans you see here are Christians and use their religion to declare all others as beneath them, just like the rest of the Roman Church. My beliefs are no longer accepted in the Roman Empire." He paused for a moment, as if pondering his predicament.

"I am amazed that I have not been bound up like a common barbarian or the 'heathen' I am supposed to be." He laughed bitterly and the mare's ears flicked back. He reached up and scratched her mane until they slowly returned to their erect position. "Since they have just discovered I am unacceptable, I will, at the least, be expelled from the Roman army when we return to Rome. More likely, they will do their best to convert me."

"Will you?" Ketchia asked. She gripped the back of the saddle as the horse plodded down a small hill. "Be converted, I mean."

"No," he said in an immediate, grave response. "And, for that, I may die." A cold tremor ran down her spine. Did she believe in anything so strongly that she would willingly die for it?

'_Home. I would die for home.'_

A/N: Okay, I'm not going to complain about my own pace anymore. Yay:o)


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur or the wonderful characters supplied by it. But I do own a lot more King Arthur stuff than I started out with! ;o) I now own the soundtrack, a Lancelot Sculpie figure I made (he's about an inch tall and completely adorable. I was bored, okay?), the novel (ick, I didn't like it at all. The movie is way better and that's scary for me since I usually like the book better), and, get this, COSTERS! Wootness, eh?

A/N: Howdy, y'all! ;o) Sorry I haven't updated in a while, I had to go to marching band camp. Woo, such grueling weather. I live in North Carolina, in the lovely South, and it was over a 104 degrees down here and we were outside for at least eight hours a day. I think I have sun poisoning. So, I'm sorry I didn't update, I was too busy abusing myself and saying things like 'This is my last time ever going standing in the sun at band camp!" and "This is the last time I'm ever going to eat this nasty Mount Olive (yes, the pickle capital of world. The college we have camp at is there)chicken!." Yay for being a senior! Sadness for being a senior! Hope everyone likes this chapter!

SHOUT-OUTS To Great Reviewers:

Op: Yes, Dagonet is sweet! (hugs Dag) A lot of people see him as the dumb one out of the knights and that's what the evil novel displays him as, but I don't see that. Just because someone is quiet and never changes their expression but once throughout the entire movie does not mean they're dumb! Okay, I'm finished venting. ;o) Thanks for reviewing!

June Birdie: Welllll…if I told you, then it would ruin everything. I will tell you that she's a little young now to be getting into a real relationship but later…who knows? ;o) I have a few thing in mind. Thanks for liking my story and reviewing!

tlm1633: Thank you! And thank you also for reviewing!

Evenstar-mor2005: pictures a bunch of angry reviewers coming after her with pitchforks and flaming torches OO I'll get right on the next chapter, I swear! Yeah, Tinus has it rough but that's why he's the way he is. Thank God we live in the free nation of America and not the suppressing Rome! WOO! (feels all patriotic) And, yep, Dagonet has now entered the picture. He's in this chapter too. Thanks for reviewing!

Shevaun: THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH:o) Someone that appreciates humor! Thanks you for the complements, they make me beam with happiness! And thank you for reviewing!

Sylence: You have a nifty penname! I like mine except for the '1' on the end. (growls) Stupid stuck a stupid '1' on the end of my nickname, grr, die… Hope you like this chapter and thank you for reviewing!

ShortAtntionSpaz: Yes, Dagonet is cool! (hugs Dag again) Aw, you make me smile:o) Thanks for reviewing!

Kal's Gal: (nods) Yep, uh-huh, I sure will! ;o) Thanks for reviewing!

Arawen: WOOO, I LOVE long reviews! You're impressed…wow. That's awesome! (grins a big goofy grin she's so happy) And I won't complain about my pace. (holds up hand for Scout's Honor) I'll find other things to complain about. ;o) Thank you for reviewing!

BlackPaintedWhite: Arabian, nifty. The only Arabian I've ever rode bucked me right off, but that was because it had a stone in its hoof. I think if I was going to Texas, I'd settle for a Quarter horse. They're faster than Thoroughbreds at a quarter of a mile. Hence, Quarter Horse. ;o) I'm glad you like the story and thank you for reviewing!

MissBubbles: Yay, I'm not going to worry about my pace again! Your guess was a good one! I could see that happening, too. And yes, Kay pops up a lot throughout the story. He actually talks in this chapter! (claps for Kay) I hope I'm up to snuff with him. ;o) Thanks for reviewing!

Lirra (To the power of three): You have now seen the movie and you fought me all the way through it. You have a very thick head but I love you. No, Kay is not Arthur's half-brother! Grr, you. Mr. Pony? What an original name! ;o) Oh, man, I heart you, you crazy little weirdo. Lancelot has a black soul, the womanizer! ;o) Thanks for reviewing!

elvinscarf: Okay…that's good right? Thanks for reviewing!

Shades: YAY SHADES! Y'all, I want you to know, this is girl suffered through band camp with me! And we survived. And now we're bored! Thanks for reviewing!

**Chapter 5**

"This," Gawain said with the utmost seriousness, "is a sword." Ketchia automatically gave him a withering look.

They were standing in a small field a few feet apart facing each other, Gawain holding out a borrowed short sword while Ketchia had her arms crossed expectantly across her chest. The setting sun shed an orange-tinted glow on the both of them as it painted the scattered clouds overhead a vicious pink. The early-risen moon winked a lazy eye opposite of the sun, vying for its own space in the vast sky.

"I think she already knows that, lad," Bors called from where he and Gareth were watching a safe distance away. Gawain waggled the sword at him.

"You're not teaching her, Bors!"

"Probably should be," Bors muttered so only Gareth could hear. Gawain gave them both irritated looks then resumed the lesson.

"This is the blade and this is the hilt," he said, pointing to the parts as he said them in turn. "You hold the hilt." He tapped the much less dangerous, leather-bound end of the sword.

"I'm not stupid, Gawain," Ketchia said scathingly as she bent down and picked up another, identical sword from the ground. It was much heavier than Gawain made it seem; she had to grip it with both hands while he only used one.

"I didn't tell you to pick it up yet," he reprimanded but then sighed as her glare landed on him. "Oh, fine, have it your way." He walked over and stood behind her, peering over her shoulder. "Alright, now tighten your grip."

Ketchia clenched the sword until her knuckles turned white. Gawain chuckled and gently touched her hand with his fingertips "No, girl, not that much. Loosen up." She relaxed her grip. To her surprise, sword tumbled out of her grasp, landing with a muffled clatter on the ground. She squeaked in shock and jumped back from the sharp blade, knocking into Gawain. She apologized while Bors and Gareth howled with laughter, attracting other young knights to the training session. Her cheeks scarlet with embarrassment, she collected her sword.

Gawain spent what seemed like forever on correcting her grip and stance before reluctantly approving them as satisfactory. He showed her a few easy jabs and blocks that they practiced at a slow speed since they had been unable to find practice swords and were using real weapons. The lesson still proved to be disastrous despite the care that was taken. To a chorus of raucous chortles and snickering, Ketchia repeatedly dropped her blade, narrowly missed running Gawain through, and lost her balance numerous times. She had never considered herself a clumsy person but the weight of the sword combined with her nervousness seemed to make her unsteady.

"This isn't going to work," Lancelot's droll voice declared after watching Gawain help her to her feet for the fourth time. He placed his chin on his fist and gazed at her with an odd mixture of boredom and ironic pleasure. "She's never going to get it."

"Shut your mouth, Lancelot!" Gareth snapped at him, his bright eyes sparking with anger. "She will too." Ketchia felt a sudden surge of affection towards him as she once again tried to block Gawain from smacking her with his sword. She yelped as the flat side of his blade thwacked against her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" he asked quickly. She nodded and they resumed the repetitive exercise. Occasionally, Ketchia would get lucky and their blades would strike against each other but she spent most of the time just trying to keep her footing while listening to the advice Gawain was giving her. She tripped over her own boot and suddenly went sprawling forwards. Gawain barely avoided her sword as it shot out of her hand and whizzed towards him. The crowd of gathered boys burst into knee-slapping guffaws. Ketchia felt hot tears of humiliation and frustration collect in the corners of her eyes. She wiped them away discreetly as she got off the ground, apologizing once again to Gawain.

"It's impossible, Gawain!" Lancelot shouted above the laughter. "Just give up before she skewers you." The blonde started to advance on the younger boy, his sword held out in front of him menacingly.

"Gawain, don't," Ketchia said, grabbing his arm as he went by. "It doesn't matter what he says." Gawain sent him one last glower before returning his attention back to his pupil. On the side of the field, Kay, who had been watching the lesson with a wary gaze, descended on Lancelot.

"I believe Taron needs to be fed," he said in a tone that left no room for argument. Lancelot shook his head.

"No, he doesn't, I fed him already," was the dismissive answer. Kay grabbed the boy by the back of his tunic and hauled him to his feet. Lancelot made a noise of protest as he was shoved away from the field. He whipped back around to find uncompromising dark blue eyes boring into him.

"Well, then," Kay said in a false pleasant tone that was dripping with warning, "perhaps he needs tending to. Now." Lancelot glared up at him before stalking away in the general direction of his horse. Bors moved away from the throng of boys, gave Kay a conspiratorial nod and followed the brooding lad. There was a sudden shrill cry followed by a deeper-voiced swear. Kay turned back around to find Ketchia clutching her right wrist while Gawain hovered over her anxiously.

"Let me see it!" he was demanding but the girl shook her head, screwing her eyes shut in pain. Kay hurried over to them, cursing that he had let them use real swords.

"What happened?"

"It was stupid, it's nothing," Ketchia replied but the blood squeezing between her fingers told him otherwise. He pinned her down with an intent stare. She sighed before releasing her wrist and holding it out for him to look at. Though it was bleeding freely, the gash was shallow and, fortunately, on the top of her wrist rather than on the bottom. Kay frowned in concern.

"I'll have to get the legionnaires' healer to mend that for you," he said and Ketchia ogled at him wide-eyed. She did not want a Roman trying to heal her wound. She had seen retired knights who had been 'healed' by Roman medics; their thick scars and missing limbs were a testament gruesome enough to detour anyone from seeking Roman assistance.

"Can't I just wrap it up with something?" she asked pleadingly, taking her injured wrist out of his hand and holding it against her chest again. She grimaced as pain radiated out from the cut.

"It needs to be taken care of or it'll become infected. If it becomes infected you could lose your hand or even your entire arm." Kay gave her a stern look. "You don't want that, do you?"

"No," she said reluctantly and hung her head in submission. Gawain started mumbling repeatedly that it was all his fault and that he was sorry. Kay had the aggrieved boy gather up the discarded swords while he led Ketchia away. The girl looked like she was on the path to the gallows.

Their progress was halted when Dagonet stepped in front of Kay, his arms folded over his chest. Shadows obscured his face as he peered down at the pair.

"If Ketchia so wishes," he said, inclining his head toward her, "I could see to her wrist. I have had the training to deal with such injuries." A flash of confusion crossed Kay's countenance and for a moment, he could not find the right words.

"You-you're a healer?" he finally stammered. Dagonet nodded, his stony expression never changing except for the appearance of an amused glimmer in his eyes. Both Kay and Ketchia stared at him in blatant disbelief.

"Come," he said and beckoned the stunned pair. Still in a bit of a daze, they followed him to a small but cheery fire that looked welcoming in the failing light of dusk. The two boys from his village, who introduced themselves as Perceval and Bedivere, were there along with their mounts. Dagonet's russet gelding sent out a whinny as his rider came closer.

Dagonet sat Ketchia down beside the fire while Kay perched nearby, scrutinizing everything that was done. Gently, Dagonet took her hand in his. A tiny smile lighted onto her lips; his hand was easily twice the size of hers. Using water from a skin, he washed off the wound. It did not look nearly as bad with all the blood gone. He examined it carefully, letting his huge fingertip graze over the edges of the gash.

"You are in luck," he announced, "Stitches are not needed." She smiled in giddy relief that there was no reason to puncture her skin any further than her original wound. He went over and retrieved a bundle of clean cloth and dried herbs from his saddle bag.

"This will hurt," he mumbled as he returned to the fireside. He sprinkled a dash of the herbs across the gash. They stung the raw flesh and Ketchia clenched her fist, wanting to rip her arm out of his grasp. He held her tight though and quickly wrapped up her wrist with the cloth. When Dagonet had finished, all the pain had been reduced to a dull throb. Ketchia thanked him profusely while Kay sat back and let out an incredulous 'hrumph'.

"I never would have believed it," he exclaimed, shaking his head. "You just don't seem to be the healing type, Dagonet." The massive man let a sad smile strike his face.

"Many have said that I am a paradox, warrior and healer in one," he replied. Kay nodded his head, a touch of admiration lighting his gaze. Ketchia touched Dagonet's muscular arm.

"Well I, for one, am glad that you are," she told him with a grateful smile.

"I appreciate that, little Ketchia," he replied and mirrored her expression. She thanked him again and bid them all a good night's rest before leaving the fire. Examining the wrapping on her wrist appreciatively, she meandered back through the camp to where the brothers had left Jalden, hoping that was where they had planned to set their fire. Sure enough, a fire was being prodded into existence by Gawain, who was glaring sullenly at the reluctant little flames. He stopped when she walked over and plopped down beside of him. He glanced at her bandaged wrist and sighed.

"That," he grumbled, "did not go the way I thought it would."

"So you didn't plan on using Ketchia as your personal practice dummy?" Gareth said in mock astonishment from where he was brushing Jalden. He looked over the gelding's rump and grinned at the pair of them. "I'm disappointed." Gawain snatched up a rock and lobbed it at the overly cheerful face.

"Hey!" Gareth yelped and ducked, startling Jalden who stomped his hoof in protest.

"Missed. Damn," Gawain growled and went back to starting the fire. With Ketchia's help, he coaxed the flickering licks of flame into a warm blaze. They ate a meager supper of dried deer meat since Tristan had told them the game around here was scarce. Bors appeared right after Gareth fell asleep. The boy's heavy snoring was bearing the brunt of the jokes Gawain was telling Ketchia. She narrowed her eyes in an analyzing stare as Bors stepped into the firelight. She had never noticed it before but he was much older than his chubby face, short stature, and often childish actions showed. He was probably the same age as Kay or maybe even older.

"So Dag did fix your wrist," he said, nodding towards Ketchia's wrist. She blinked as he talked then cocked her head to the side.

"But how did you know-"

"Word spreads fast around this camp, you should know that by now," he said with a broad smile. He sat down and accepted a piece of deer that Gawain offered him.

"And you don't need to be worrying about Lancelot bothering you for a while, lass," he said with a dark, pleased chuckle. She flashed him a worried look and he laughed louder.

"No, I didn't kill him. Or hurt him for that matter, not that I didn't want to, the bloody brat." Bors snorted. "No, I just talked to him and told him, civil-like," he winked, "to leave you be."

"Thank you very much, Bors," Ketchia said. He nodded.

"I was just happy to tell the little git off." They all grinned at the image of Lancelot enduring the rage of Bors. He pointed down at her wrist again.

"You should be proud of that, Ket," he said, changing the subject rapidly. Ketchia regarded him with a startled expression, half because of his statement and half at the nickname.

"Why?"

"Thanks to Gawain here," he clapped the boy on the back, "you've got the first battle scar of our fifteen years." He beamed at Gawain's dismayed look and Ketchia's exasperation. "You have something to boast about before we even get to Britain!"

Later, when Ketchia was curled up in her bedroll, she stroked the bandage and thought about what Bors had said. The first scar of fifteen years worth. Was it really something to be proud of? Or was it something to be frightened of? She found that she leaned more to the frightened side and that weakness disgusted her.

**A/N: The plot actually moves in the next chapter, though this one was much more fun to write. I was going to combine the two, but if I did, it was going to be insanely long and usually people don' enjoy insanely long stuff. **


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: GOODNESS! I really believe you all know the answer to this already, right? But, since I am a good little obedient fanfiction writer, I will say, for the MILLIONTH time, that I do not own King Arthur or the Knights or most of anything else in this story. (suddenly brandishes Lancelot's twin swords) But, THESE, these are MINE! BWAHAHAHA! (runs away with Lancelot trailing after, shouting for the return of HIS swords)

SHOUTOUTS To MUY Magnificent Reviewers:

Op: LOL, that is very nice of you! Thank you for reviewing!

Shades: Howdy, Shades, darling! Yeah, tis sad, but she'll get over it. ;o) Thanks for reviewing! (Curly Locks of Love! Tee-Hee!) ;o)

Sylence: Thank you for the compliment. I liked the end of the last chapter two. Usually I don't like my endings, but that one was good. :o) Thanks for reviewing!

Tlm1633: Okay, I might start making longer chapters then. It just depends. :o) Thanks for reviewing!

Lirra: Yeah, well, Lance is evil at its best! And I mean that most innocently, of course. ;o) No, Sketchy, dear, Kay was not a coincidence. Yes, I know what the legends say. Yes, I know he's supposed to be Arthur foster-brother thing. But in this he's not. He's just Kay, knight of Sarmatia. I have told you a BAZILLION times that this is not the legend. This is the movie. Yep, Dag is WONDERFUL! (hugs Dagonet) Thanks for reviewing! And I have the Newsie stuff you wanted…

Lauraine: I'm glad you like it so much:o) Thank you for reviewing!

Evenstar-mor2004: Yay for Dag! Give that man some R-E-S-P-E-C-T:o) Evil civil war and Roman doctors! Maybe we should sic the knights on them. (Is amused at the thought of knights attacking civil war doctors) Woot! Thanks for reviewing!

ShortAtntionSpaz: (salutes obediently) Yes, m'am! Will do:o) Thanks for reviewing!

MORWEN12: Was that fast enough:o) Thanks for reviewing!

Danigrebel: I said 'insanely' long chapters, not just long. ;o) I'm glad you like it! Thanks for reviewing!

Miss-anonymous13: YAY! (dances around you) I'm so proud of you! You know who they are! WOOT! Sorry you were confused. Thanks for reviewing!

MissBubbles: Aw, you make me smile! (beams) Yeah, I love doing the interactions between Gawain, Gareth, and Ketchia. Woo, I succeeded in doing a good Kay and a good Dag! WOO! Thank you for reviewing!

Boondockgal: I'm glad you're so pleased with it! And enthusiastic about it. :o) I hope you enjoy this chapter too. Thanks for reviewing!

TO YOU ALL: I still love you all and thanks so much for your input and everything!

**Chapter 6**

Ketchia did not consider it a good sign that the sky was ominously overcast when the final village they would stop at was sighted. To match the quota of forty perfectly, the Romans would have to scour at least five boys from this outcropping of shabbily-made huts. If there were no males, they would have to take on another girl like Ketchia, a most unsavory option.

She craned her neck so she could peer over Tinus' broad shoulder. The villagers seemed entirely surprised by the convoy's appearance; many dropped whatever they were doing to gawk with open mouths at the Romans and the captive knights. As the riders came closer, the startled Sarmatians burst into frenzied action. Men and women appeared at the edge of the village, weapons in hand as they looked on the Romans with hard eyes. Mothers shoved their children into the huts and stood outside the door-flaps, ready to protect their offspring.

Ketchia saw Tinus' arm move beneath his outlandishly red cloak. She followed his hand as it reached over and touched the hilt of his spatha. Her eyes widened and she stared at the back of his helmet. She had no doubt, that if ordered to, he would use that sword against her people. A sudden upheaval of hatred put fire in her body and she moved away from the Roman until she was sitting on the mare's hindquarters.

Tinus glanced behind at her sudden movement only to be met with a pair of brown eyes blazing with abhorrence. An ironic smirk slid onto his lips. Good, she hated him. That would only strengthen her bonds with her fellow knights, make them closer than family since they were all pitted against the same people. He pitied their commander though, whoever he might be. Earning the respect and trust of such rage-filled warriors was going to be a challenge.

The Roman commander, Quintilius, thrust his sword arm into the air and all of the Romans, including Tinus, rode forward to join him. A few unsheathed their blades and tossed dangerous, challenging looks towards the young knights who clustered behind them. Gawain sent Ketchia a sympathetic glance as she passed in front of him. Ashamed, she turned her face to the side. When the Romans had all gathered at the front, they formed a block and moved to face the line of villagers. The tension grew as taunt as a bow string between the two groups as the Romans trotted forward. Ketchia wished nothing more than to slide off of Tinus' mare and run back to the others but she feared the consequences of doing so. Instead, she clung to the back of the saddle and settled for glaring daggers at Tinus' helmet. Quintilius' sword arm went up again and the Romans halted their horses.

The commander, flanked by two other legionnaires on either side, nudged his horse forward. The villagers raised their weapons as one while their leader went to meet him with only a sword for his bodyguard.

"You know what we come for," Quintilius' authoritative voice sneered as he looked down at the Sarmatian with obvious disdain. The man caught the Roman's eyes with his own and answered shortly.

"Yes."

"Then why do you put out a force," he scoffed at the word, "to stop us?"

"We need our boys," the man argued with a sharp edge to his tone. "Our people cannot continue to supply you with knights if we have no men to father them."

Quintilius snorted and the gelding beneath him stepped to the side in agitation. "This matters not to Rome. We can always find others to fight in your stead."

"Then do so," the Sarmatian snapped. His dark eyes glowered up at the Roman as he raised his long sword in a sudden fit of anger. "Our sons will not join you and your honorless fight, you Roman bastards!"

Quintilius sighed in a bored manner. In a single motion, he unsheathed his spatha and thrust it down through the Sarmatian's unprotected shoulder, into his heart. The man had not even been able to move his sword to block. He let out a scream of pain and fury then fell to the ground, his body going into spasms. Quintilius then raised his sword, blood shining like liquid flame on its blade, and pointed it towards the shocked villagers.

"Those that wish to join him may step forward now and embrace your death."

Behind Tinus, Ketchia felt as if she was going to vomit. She had seen people die by the sword in her village but those deaths had been accidents, mistakes made on the sparring field. This was a true killing, a murder before her eyes. Her vision reeling, she buried her face in the closest cloth thing, which happened to be Tinus' cloak. She felt him arch his back then pull away from her.

"No, girl. You must watch," he ordered. This would not be the worst of what she would see in the next fifteen years, Tinus was certain of that. To let her hide her face now would be coddling her, more of a hindrance to her than a help. He could almost see her usually calm expression contort into pure hatred as she moved back again.

Curiosity sent a tendril of interest through her mind as she watched the man twitch one last time before laying still. How did it feel to take another's life? Was it exciting? Or did you feel regret? Was it different each time or was it just a monotonous flow of death dealt from one's hand? Horrified by her own thoughts, Ketchia shook her head to clear them.

The Romans' message was clear to the villagers, who threw down their weapons with vicious looks. A pair of youths who had been among the fighters were called out. They grudgingly went off to ready their horses under the watchful eye of a legionnaire. When it became apparent that these were the only boys of age, the legionnaires turned to the huts. The mothers, though, were not as easily convinced to hand over their children. They stood in front of their homes like lionesses protecting their dens. A few riders dismounted and marched over to the huts, their faces apathetic masks as they shoved the women aside. Soon, wailing children were being thrust callously out into the open. Five more boys were plucked from the crowd but they were much younger than any of the other chosen Sarmatians.

One of the mothers, a beautiful young lady with a waterfall of brown curls, screamed in hysterical rage as her son of maybe seven summers was torn from the rest of the children.

"GALAHAD!" She flung herself forward and enveloped the child in her arms, shrieking Sarmatian curses at the Romans. A man from the fighting lines heard her shouts and started to make his way back to her, but one of the legionnaires stopped him. A few of the other women tried to soothe her and make her let go of her son, but she clung to him like he was her lifeline. A legionnaire stepped over to them and ripped his sword from its sheath. He held the sharp tip to her back and pressed. The women, at the sight of the blade, immediately backed away and gathered their remaining children to them.

"Release the boy," the legionnaire commanded. The young mother looked up at him with searing blue eyes.

"No!" she snarled, tightening her hold on Galahad. "He is my only child! Take another!"

"No woman speaks to me in such a manner!" the infuriated legionnaire roared. He jabbed the sword forward into the woman's lower back. There was a roar from the man who had tried to come to her aid as she shrieked and fell over, still clutching the boy who was huddled up against her chest. The Roman scowled at her determination and kicked her in the head, knocking her unconscious. He reached down and snatched the boy from her motionless arms. The child immediately started screaming and pounding on the soldier, striking his armor with fists fueled by fear for his mother and his own temper. The legionnaire tired quickly of his little display of spirit and smashed the palm of his hand against Galahad's temple. The boy fell limp, his small face still livid with anger. The fighter burst away from the legionnaire who was holding him back. He spared a brief, despairing look at his son before hurrying to his wife's side, gathering her flaccid body in his arms.

Horses had been stolen from their rightful owners as mounts for the young boys. Ketchia had at first been hopeful that one of these would be hers and she could be quit of Tinus, but it was soon made apparent that this was not going to be the case. The little ones were silent with fear as they climbed up on the backs of horses much too large for them. To make sure they did not stray from the rest of the convoy, ropes were tied from their saddles to a few of the Roman ones.

"What do we do with this one?" asked the legionnaire holding Galahad. The boy had been thrown unceremoniously over one of his shoulders as if he were a sack of food. Quintilius barely glanced at the child.

"Tie him to a pack horse," he ordered. "Securely, of course."

The legionnaire nodded and walked off, the boy bumping lifelessly against his back. Ketchia watched as Kay leapt off his dark brown stallion and stormed up to the Roman. There were words exchanged and it looked for a moment that the soldier might strike the young man, but when it was finished, Kay returned to his horse with Galahad cradled in his arms.

"A lesson is in order here, I believe," Quintilius said with an unreadable expression. He looked at the village for a brief moment before trotting his big gelding forward. His bodyguards followed him like a pair of hunting dogs after their master. The Sarmatians moved back as he passed through but their hateful glares betrayed their thoughts of bloodlust. Tinus and a couple of other legionnaires moved back towards the knights as a sort of guard as Quintilius dismounted. He bent down next to a cookfire and grabbed a sturdy looking branch whose end was bright with flame. Both knights and villagers watched in horror as he set fire to the huts made of animal skin with skeletons of precious tree limbs. Their homes, along with whatever was inside them, were burning to the ground. A few of the children began bawling piteously but the adults just stared at the Romans, unable to save their homes for the possibility of their families being killed. After each hut and the wood supply for the village had been set on fire, Quintilius wheeled his gelding around and rejoined the convoy, surveying his work with a pleasure. With the third wave of his arm, the convoy moved out again, the bonfire of the burning village making a hellish backdrop behind them.

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"I hate you," Ketchia snapped venomously. It had only been an hour since they left the village but the image of destruction was still playing in everyone's minds.

"Good," Tinus grunted without emotion. They rode for a while with only the plodding of the mare's hooves for noise.

"Why did you take more than five?" the girl suddenly demanded. "The quota is only forty, is it not?" Tinus looked to his side and watched the girl out of the corner of his eye. She was sitting closer to him than before but that was out of safety rather than fondness. The fury he had seen there before had only intensified.

"It is better to have more than less," he replied, his tone matter-of-fact. "If something happens to one or two of you, we will still have our quota when we reach Ostia."

There was another moment of silence before,

"You disgust me."

"Get used to being disgusted then, girl," he muttered, turning his head straight again. "It is a very long way still to Ostia."

Ketchia sat back in a huff. After she finished sulking, she looked about at the other young knights. There had seemed so many when she first joined but now there seemed be too few. There were only forty-two of them; that could not possibly be all of the males of age in Sarmatia. As much as she did not want to, she knew she would have to ask Tinus if she was going to sate her inquisitiveness.

"There are more knights than us, aren't there?" For a moment, she thought that he was not going to answer her question.

"Yes," he finally muttered.

"Where are they, then?" She had found that with Tinus, if she didn't ask for an elaboration, she was not going to get one.

"You did not possibly think that a force as small as ours could gather all the boys of Sarmatia, did you?" Tinus jeered. In her current mood, Ketchia might have retorted if he had not continued. "Other convoys from Rome were sent out for the knights."

"Will they all go to Ostia?"

"No." Before she could ask another question, he went on. "Not every post requires a ship to reach it."

"Britain is across the sea, then," Ketchia said in more of a statement then a question. "And we are for Britain?" Her voice was tentative. This was the answer she really wanted. She strained her ears until it finally startled her when he actually spoke.

"Yes," he replied. "You are for Britain." For a third time, there was silence. Ketchia gazed at the land around her. Rich, rolling plains stretched in every direction, broken only by small outcroppings of rocks and tiny rivers. The sky above, though today a menacing gray, was usually a brilliant robin's egg blue with wisps of clouds brushed upon it. It was beautiful, wild, untamed. In her mind and heart, perfect. There was no other place she wished to be. How did it differ from Britain?

"What is it like there?" she asked quietly but there was an edge of ravenous desire to know in her voice. Tinus sighed and gathered the reins up in his hands.

"I have never been, but I have heard tales of it." He went on, knowing the girl would pester him further if he did not continue. "There thousands of trees. Forests like you have never imagined, child. It is an island of trees." He let her mull over that for a moment. Trees were almost beyond the girl anyway; Sarmatia barely had any to boast since it consisted of mostly plains and steppes.

"It is an island of trees?" She sounded as if she did not believe him. In front of them, the convoy was transitioning from a walk to a canter. "You mean it is surrounded by water?"

"Most islands are," Tinus snapped and kicked his horse into a canter. Ketchia took that as meaning that the conversation was over. She grabbed onto the saddle and watched Sarmatia disappear under the hooves of the mare.

A/N: This barely has anything to do with the story, but I have a cat who has the exact personality of Lancelot. Right now, he's bumping up against by hand and legs because he wants to be petted. NOW. He's demanding, prone to mood swings (you hold him when HE wants to be held, not any other time), playful, a little charmer, and likes to randomly catnap up next to you. He's also a deep sleeper and has these little cat dreams. And you can throw him around the room and he doesn't care! He just comes right back to be rubbed again. :o) But he just reminds me so much of Lancelot! Especially when he gives me that look. You know, the half-amused, half-bored one that says, "Hey, you there, pet me and I'll purr." ;o) It doesn't help that he's entirely black and has a slim face, either. Aw, now he's asleep in my lap…that's amusing:o)


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur. But I own other things! Like…(grabs hairbrush) This hairbrush! And…(grabs another random object), this pencil! Yep…le sigh, I am pathetic. ;o)

A/N: Sorry it took so long! I was on vacation then school started and yeah…and it's still short. (sigh)

SHOUT-OUTS To Those Great People That Push The Purple Button:

Tlm1633: Lol, well, her and Cinnamon, my cat, can get together and be demanding and stuff as a pair. Ketchia and Gal'll have a connection since they're both sorta oddballs in the group, Ketchia being the girl and Galahad the youngest, but it's yet to be seen if it's anything more than friendship. ;o) Thanks for reviewing!

Op: You make me smile a lot. :o) Thanks for reviewing!

Boondockgal: Lol! (hands you tissue) Thanks for liking my story so much, it makes me feel special. ;o) Thanks for reviewing!

MissBubbles: Well, I guess getting you worked up is a good thing, then. :o) Yes, Kay! (hugs Kay) He's fun! Ah, a happy review-writer! How wonderful! Thanks for reviewing!

Miss-anonymous13: lol, heya Sage:o) Sleepover this weekend, woot! And long holiday. Gotta love Labor Day. Who knows, maybe I'll even write something for Newsies or this. Yeah, twas a sad chapter but I'm glad you liked it! Thanks for reviewing!

ShortAtntionSpaz: Your kitty sounds nice. ;o) I'm glad you liked the emotion! Thanks for reviewing!

Shades: She gets her horse later…just keep reading! ;o) Thanks for reviewing!

Lirra: I luv you, chica! That's for commenting on this before a posted it. Helps me out a lot. Glad you overall liked the last chapter. Thanks for reviewing!

Shevaun: Aw, thanks, that was a nice thing to stay. I hope I keep meeting your standards. Thanks for reviewing!

**Chapter 7**

"Girl." Tinus' rough voice woke Ketchia from her uneasy sleep. She rolled her head around from where it had been bowed forward, brushing against the legionnaire's back. She winced then rubbed at the painful cramp in her neck.

"Wake up," he insisted in a mutter.

"I am," she grumbled back, blinking in the dim moonlight as she tried to regain her bearings.

It had been nearly a month since they had left the disaster of the last village. The Romans had increased their already grueling pace until it seemed that the convoy spent days at a time in the saddle. At first, Ketchia had been so sore that all she wanted to do was lie down and cry, but now her muscles were conditioned to the seemingly endless riding. She had also learned how to sleep in the saddle, a little trick she had been employing before Tinus had awakened her.

"Yes, sir?" she asked with a dash of bitterness on the 'sir'. She still had not forgiven him for the village, even though he had played a relatively small part in the destruction. She kept kneading her aching neck and shoulders as she looked around. Everything was fine, at least as far as she could tell in the dark. Everyone was still moving forward, no one was fighting, and no one had fallen off their horse. She blinked in sleepy confusion. "What is it?"

"I thought," he muttered and shook his shoulders restlessly, "you would want to know that we have left Sarmatia."

"What!" Ketchia yelped, her eyes flying completely open. She twisted around on the horse, trying to see behind her. Nothing stuck out in the starlight to differentiate this land from Sarmatia. For a moment, her anger flared up at him, certain that he was lying. But something, a cold feeling of realization, stopped her from snapping at him. "Are you certain?" she asked in a weak, desperate tone.

"Do not question me, child," Tinus growled sharply and Ketchia winced. She felt empty, like someone had scooped out her insides and left her body as a husk as her country grew farther away with every plodding step of the mare. The journey of leaving Sarmatia and becoming a knight had all seemed like a continuous, convincing bad dream until seconds ago. Now that they were across the border, everything was thrown into harsh reality. Was there even a shred of hope that she would see it or her family again?

She ran a finger across the raised scar on her wrist, an action that was becoming habitual. She knew that many knights never saw their homes again after joining the Roman ranks. What chance did she, a thin little girl who could barely lift a sword, have of surviving the next fifteen years? Melancholy wrapped itself around her in a tight spiral. If she even made it to Britain, it would be a miracle.

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"What's the matter?" Gawain asked in concern. It was dawn and the convoy had stopped at a river to rest and water the horses. Everyone was using this brief break in the relentless riding to eat something while standing still or to catch up on much needed sleep. Ketchia, though, had declined to do either. Instead, she was sitting away from the other knights, staring back into the east with her shoulders hunched over.

She glanced up at him and shook her head, causing a few tangles of hair that had escaped its band to fall into her face. He crouched down in front of her.

"Ketchia," he said, trying to catch her eyes with his. She looked away. He took her chin and gently turned it to face him. The blank look there startled him. "What is it? Tell me."

"Sarmatia is behind us," she mumbled reluctantly.

"What?" he exclaimed, startled. He let go of her and looked around like she had the night before. And, like her, he could not find anything that made this land obviously different from their homeland. He turned back and regarded Ketchia with mild suspicion. "How do you know?"

"Tinus told me," she answered mechanically. "He woke me so I could see it one last time." Gawain ran a hand through his matted hair then dragged it down his face, ending by cupping his chin.

"Maybe he was jesting you." That seemed to break her stupor. She stared up at him with an incredulous look.

"If Tinus ever jests," she started, "I think the sun will stop rising and rain will turn to wine."

"That doesn't sound so horrible," was Gawain's half-hearted attempt at a joke. Ketchia sniffed and brushed a lock of hair back out of her face.

"You would think that, wouldn't you," she said. He sighed and offered her his hand.

"C'mon, Ket. You can't sit here like a rock forever." She glanced up and saw uncertainty and fear lingering in his blue eyes, a mirror image of her own thoughts. But there was courage to be found there, too, and Ketchia took it to her heart, letting his bravery strengthen her. She grasped his arm and let him help her off the ground.

"I suppose I should have been better prepared for this," she mused when she was standing, toeing the ground with the tip of one boot. She tried to smile; at least, she managed not to grimace. "I knew we were going to leave Sarmatia someday. I just didn't realize how soon." Gawain put a companionable arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. She tensed then laid her head against his arm, welcoming the caring touch.

"Leaving your homeland is not an easy thing," he said with unexpected gentleness. "Especially if it is unwillingly."

"And we're about as unwilling as it gets," she added humorlessly. They stood there in friendly silence, watching the new sun rise higher in the sky. She stole a glance at Gawain. He was looking towards Sarmatia with a faraway, saddened gaze. It did not take an enlightened scholar to know he was thinking of the family he had left behind, the village that had been his home, and the future he might have had if there was no such place as Rome. "Gawain?"

"Hmm?" She paused, unsure of how he would take her question. Steeling herself with the need to know, she carried on.

"Do you think we'll ever see it again?" He looked down and met her worried eyes. "Do you think we'll make it back?"

"I hope so," he replied in the most serious tone she had ever heard him use. He gave her shoulder another reassuring squeeze. "I can't tell you how much I hope so." Ketchia appreciated it greatly that he did not try to sugarcoat their possible early deaths. In that moment, though neither of them knew it, Gawain became more than a friend to her, a most-trusted confidant that would prove worthy beyond compare over their many years together. "But let's not dwell too much on the might-be's." He suddenly smiled, a small expression but well-meant all the same. Humor tinged his voice. "It'll give me a headache. Besides, there's rest to be had before we continue this damned, never-ending ride!"

Without waiting for her answer, he swung her around and headed back to the others at a hearty gait. Unable to reach his shoulders, she put her arm around his waist to balance herself.

Ketchia was amazed at how quickly Gawain switched moods from serious to joking but it seemed to be a good change. It was better than moping around and feeling sorry for yourself, anyways.

Galahad, who had been tormenting Gareth with a wooden sword, spotted them first. He grinned and ran out to them, which was a great relief to Gareth since he was left to eat his breakfast in peace.

"Ket! Gawain!" Galahad shouted, waving his little sword in the air. He rushed up to the older knights-to-be then squashed himself into the tiny gap in-between them, forcing the pair apart. He grinned at them with mischievous accomplishment. "What're you doing?"

"None of your business, scamp," Gawain said and gave the boy a shove that would have sent him to the ground if Ketchia hadn't grabbed him. She shot Gawain a scolding look before righting Galahad who promptly launched himself at the blonde. They toppled over, a heap of laughter and yelling. Ketchia smirked and continued her on way over to Gareth. He nodded to the wrestling match when she came closer.

"That is the wildest," he paused for a moment while searching for the perfect word, "_thing-child_ I have ever met."

"Really?" she asked, with a flash of a smile. "Did you consider yourself?" Gareth frowned at her.

"I'm not that bad!" he protested with a snap. He waved an arm towards Galahad who was now sitting on top of Gawain, yanking the older boy's vulnerably long hair. Gawain rolled over and squashed him, which made the child start shouting in shrill protest. Gareth rolled his eyes. "No one around here is that bad."

"Last night he shot pebbles at me with that slingshot Bors made him," said Lamorak, a touch of annoyance tingeing his tone. He was a clumsy boy with a light brown mop of hair and a rather handsome face, or so Ketchia secretly thought. "All I heard was him giggling then twip!" He rubbed at a patch of bruises that was coloring his arm for sympathy that never came. Laughter took its place. Lamorak crossed his arms in a huff. "That's right, laugh. Let's see how funny you think it is when you twits are on the receiving end."

"He's right, though," came the soft, timid voice of Yvain. Ketchia had to strain to hear him even though she was standing quite close to the thin, black-haired lad. He had lived in the same village as Galahad; he was not much older but he was far tamer, maybe a little too much so. Kay had proposed that he might make a better healer than a warrior. "My mother used to say Galahad was terror on two legs." His gave a miniscule shrug. "He's always been this way." Kay, who was standing near his stallion, shook his head.

"That may be, but I'd much rather have him like this than the way he was before," he put in firmly before taking a bite of dried venison. Ketchia noticed there was a sad look to his eyes before she nodded in agreement.

The first week after he had been taken, Galahad had barely uttered a word. He just rode in front of Kay with a permanent tortured look that was always directed at the nearest Roman. After a few nights of coaxing at the fireside, he had broken down and relaxed among the other Sarmatians, becoming a ball of livewire energy though he still threw particularly nasty glares at the Romans.

But she did agree, this was an improvement. She searched around until she found something to eat then sat down beside Tristan, earning her a brief glance up from the arrow shaft he was whittling. Ketchia felt assessed in that simple look, as if Tristan had taken in everything about her and stored the information somewhere in his mind to mull over later. By now she had gotten used to the odd feeling. She was surprised, though, when he spoke to her.

"Someone told you, didn't they?" he asked in more of a statement than a question. Ketchia gaped at him. How did he do that?

"Told her what?" Gareth butted in, his mouth full of food. A sarcastic smirk drew a jagged line across Tristan' face. Ketchia frowned; he looked as if he was going to enjoy this.

"That you're no longer sitting on Sarmatian soil," Tristan said calmly and waited for Gareth and the others to figure out exactly what he had meant by that. There was an uproar, a mixture of rage, confusion, and shock as they caught on. A glimpse of the serious grimace on Kay's face told them that it was true. Kay glared at Tristan as the three shot off to relay the news to the rest of the boys.

"Was that necessary?" he snapped, stalking over to the scout. He stopped when he was standing above him, taking a commanding stance. "Or did you just do it for their reactions?" Tristan looked up at him lazily.

"Gareth asked," he replied simply. He got to his feet and made as if he was going to walk away. He stopped and turned back, meeting Kay's eyes defiantly. "You knew, too." His grey gaze narrowed. "If you had wanted to tell them, you could have."

"I was planning to," Kay exclaimed with no little restraint, his face taunt with anger. "But I was going to use more tact, Tristan, something that you seem to lack greatly!" Ketchia noticed his fist clench at his side and she bit her bottom lip anxiously. She had never seen Kay lose his temper and it was surprising he would lose it against a fellow Sarmatian. Tristan regarded him coolly.

"I don't coddle them like they're little children," Tristan said slowly, his words like shards of ice. "That's not what they need." Ketchia realized that he was just as angry as Kay, though instead of raising his voice in heat, his tone became increasingly colder, a harsh bite lacing it like frost. It seemed that both of them had forgotten she was there as they talked above her head. "You're only going to kill them faster, trying to make it easy for them. You can't hold their hand forever."

"Waiting until they're well rested and fed before telling them they've left everything they've ever known behind is not what I consider holding their hand," Kay retorted in a crescendo of suppressed anger. His eyes shone with his emotions. "And, if you can't tell, they _are_ just children."

"No," Tristan said, his voice dangerously grave. "They're knights." When Kay did not reply, they stood in silence for a moment, glaring at each other. It seemed to Ketchia that words were exchanged in those glowers but she did not know what they were. The two youths stormed off in separate directions but the heat of their argument still hung in the air like an oppressive fog. Gawain, followed by Galahad who had taken to stabbing at the older boy's shadow with his sword, walked up to the deserted camp and gave it a curious once-over.

"Did I miss anything?" he asked, an eyebrow raised. Ketchia stared at him, not knowing whether to laugh or shake her head.

A/N: Sorry that it wasn't my best, I just started school and writing's been tough since my classes are all higher level and I don't have much time for thinking or daydreaming. (sigh)


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur, I just own my ideas. Bwahahamoolala.

A/N: Sorry it's taken so long, I've been rather busy.

Shout-outs to The WICKED Awesome Reviewers:

ShortAttntionSpaz: I have found freetime for daydreaming, on occasion! Yay:0) Thank you for enjoying the chapter and reviewing!

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Op: Lol, Tinus would be very adverse to a hug but if you wish to do so go ahead. Yes, I think Ketchia really needs Gawain too. I love their friendship! (grins) Thanks for reviewing!

Lirra: I heart you so much! Thanks for reviewing!

Evenstar-mor2004: lol, yes, they're both right in a way. I like conflict. :0)

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**Chapter 8 **

The land started to change like the steady but nearly unnoticeable journey of the moon across the sky. The treeless steppes were slowly taken over by towering mountains that unnerved the Sarmatians. The convoy trekked for countless weeks, slowly making their way through the mountain ranges. Game was difficult to find and occasionally one of the horses would become injured, causing more trouble and a loss of time. It was a bitter relief to see the green foothills that led into the heart of Rome.

Mansions of lords began to appear as they rode on, the typical Roman architecture and lavish gardens enhanced by the brilliance of nature. After seeing the first of these mansions, Ketchia had been awed and, at the same time, perturbed at the wealth these people spent on extravagant dwellings of marble walls and pillars; her home was a one-room wood hut with a dirt floor. Her aversion to the mansions only grew when the convoy passed through a small, impoverished town where the people were dressed in rags and as gaunt as skeletons with hunger and disease. The mansions were deceptively beautiful, outward symbols of Roman selfishness and domination of others. They were just another item to add to the list of things she hated about Romans. That list grew longer every day.

Now that they were traveling through surroundings they were actually familiar with, the legionnaires relaxed. There was much more conversation between them than there had been before. Most of it was about how much they wanted to finish this mission, wash their hands of the "Sarmatian curs", and get back to Rome and women. Women was a subject that was popping up more frequently among the soldiers. They would describe their perfect woman in full detail and as loudly as they wanted while the others criticized their choices. They also began a tasteless game of naming their favorite brothels. After they had started this lewd pastime, Ketchia noticed that she was never left alone with the Romans. Someone would escort her to Tinus, wait till she had mounted, then return to their own horse. When the convoy stopped, Dagonet, who rode right in front of Tinus, would casually rein his horse in next to the legionnaire's mare and collect her. At first she had been extremely annoyed that they felt she needed their constant protection. She had been dead-set on telling them all off until she calmed herself down and took another look at the situation. Even though she was just a child and a "worthless Sarmatian", she was still the closet female and therefore at risk. So, instead of being aggravated, she suppressed her irritation and made sure to do them the small favor of staying in sight.

Ketchia was fiddling absently with the hem of Tinus' cloak when one of the Romans let out a joyful shout and pointed towards a hilltop in the distance. As they approached, a white building surrounded by sprawling vineyards came into view. It trickled back through the ranks that one of the Romans had relatives there and the convoy was going to encroach upon the hapless relatives. Tinus groaned at the news as a rider went off to inform the family of the approaching horde.

"A chance for them to get drunk out of their minds without restraint. Wonderful," he said sarcastically, gathering the reins in one hand. "It'll be a month before we leave here." Ketchia frowned.

"You're not serious, are you?" she asked, raising her eyebrows even though he could not see her expression. He did not answer her and her relatively good mood was squashed. Fifteen years of slavery was bad enough but these traveling months were not even counted as a part of that service. She crossed her arms and had herself a proper sulk. Tinus gave the barest of chuckles as he turned the mare to follow the convoy up the hill.

Workers stopped plucking the plump, ripe grapes off the vines to pause and stare at the strangely dressed youths and their armored keepers. A few of the closer ones reached out to touch the horses who did not appreciate the strange hands and showed it by nipping at them. An overseer cracked a whip in the air and the serfs went back to work. He yelled at them in Latin, the native tongue of the Romans. Ketchia knew she was going to have to learn fluent Latin if she was ever going to live in the Roman world but it was such a difficult language. She was slowly picking it up from Tinus who had taken to speaking it instead of the garbled version of Sarmatian the Romans used when addressing the knights.

Farther up the hill, the mansion seemed to be erupting with action as servants and family alike prepared for the unexpected guests. People could be seen scurrying in and out of the main courtyard, going about their individual tasks at a frenzied pace. Ketchia mused to herself that they looked like a bunch of ants in clothing running around. The Roman legionnaires fanned out and made an effort to surround the young knights as they rode into the courtyard, making a show of their power over a group of bedraggled, worn out boys. Like the field-hands, the house servants watched the newcomers but they did it more discreetly, stealing a glance while they were passing by.

The legionnaires dismounted from their horses and took off their plumed helmets. A tall man with a countenance proclaiming confidence and shrewd know-how walked out of the mansion to greet them, his arms held wide out. His spurious smile seemed to stretch across his face as if two people were pulling it on either side.

Ketchia did not understand Romans. They would proclaim their affection for another while they were together but, when one's back was turned, they would tear that person to shreds with their words. To her, it seemed that everything one Roman said to another Roman's face was either a veiled insult or a lie but it was put so nicely that the other could not protest. Kay had once called them hypocrites, and even though she did not know the word's exact meaning, she thought it was a correct assessment. If you were Sarmatian and you did not like someone, you did not try to keep up the appearance that you did. The Romans' playacting of companionship was strange and unsettling to her.

She cut her eyes over to Kay. The oldest knight was sitting back in his saddle, his arms crossed, regarding everything and everyone with guileless dislike. She followed his example as the Romans acted out their insincere social obligations.

"Welcome!" the man boomed in Latin. He had a commanding bass voice that immediately caught people's attention. The smile was pulled even tighter as he addressed the legionnaires. "Welcome, brave warriors of Rome!" He nodded to the soldiers who immediately bowed back. He approached Quintilius, who he recognized as the commander by the extreme fluffiness of his plume. They swapped the compulsory bows.

"I am honored by your esteemed presence in my humble home," he exclaimed, but the strained look in his eyes said otherwise. It was not as if he could turn soldiers away, especially if one of them could claim relations, and if he showed any hostility, it would eventually get back to Parliament and the other lords. There was no way out of it. By looking at the blatantly smug expression on his face, anyone could see that Quintilius was relishing his host's predicament.

"And we thank you heartily for your accommodations," Quintilius replied, practically beaming with arrogance.

"I try to do my best to aid the Republic," the nobleman exclaimed. Unable to stand looking at the commander any longer, he let his gaze drift over to the knights. He scanned the exhausted faces of the boys. He paused at the larger ones as if sizing them up. "Sarmatians?" he finally asked as he turned back to Quintilius, one eyebrow raised in question. The commander gave a bark of laughter that held no humor.

"A good eye, my lord," he said. He waved a careless hand at the boys. "Yes, a pack of Sarmatian mutts for Caesar."

'Mutt? I am no mutt,' Ketchia growled in her thoughts. "Gods, I hate Romans."

"So do I," mumbled Tinus moodily from beside the horse. Ketchia allowed herself a tiny smile. She had not meant to say it out loud but she was glad someone agreed with her. Even if it was just Tinus.

Meanwhile, the lord had finally recognized his kinsman and went to him, making a show of hugging him and kissing his scrub-beard cheeks. They began speaking in rapid-fire Latin and Ketchia quickly lost track of what they were saying. A few of the legionnaires rounded up the knights and herded them back out of the courtyard. Ketchia slid off Tinus' mare, grabbed her bedroll, and followed them, dropping in beside the few others who were on foot. They were led away from the mansion, into an open spot near what looked like the slave quarters. A few women stuck their heads out of open doorways as most of the legionnaires left, leaving only one to keep watch over the knights. He grumbled, yelled for the boys not to make trouble or he would gut them, and flopped down under a flimsy tree to have a pity party.

Ketchia made her way through the horses, throwing out a greeting or a quick wave where they were needed. She perked up her ears as she went, listening to snatches of conversation here and there. She found out that the main sentiment was that though no one really wanted to stay here, everyone was glad for the break. She agreed wholeheartedly. She was sorely tired of riding.

"Ket! Over here!" She whirled around at Gareth's shout. The boy was sitting on atop Jalden, the gelding he and his brother shared, waving both arms wildly to get her attention. She smiled and darted over towards him, taking a short cut in-between a pair of horses. He slid off Jalden as she put her hands on her hips and gave their surroundings an assessing look.

"Where's Gawain?" she asked, noticing the older boy's absence.

"Off looking for Kay," Gareth replied, nodding off into the crowd of knights-to-be. "For some strange, Gawain-logic reason, he thought that Kay would actually want to talk to him." He gave a snort and started to unsaddle Jalden. Ketchia immediately moved to help him, her nimble fingers undoing knots and buckles quicker than Gareth's.

"Did he say what about?" She glanced at her friend. He shook his head, making his shaggy blonde hair fall into his face.

"No, but my guess is that it's something about staying here." With a grunt, he heaved the saddle off the horse's back. "I think it makes him uneasy." He sat the tack down on a well-placed pole and cast his gaze back at the mansion walls. He shook his head as if dispelling an unpleasant notion and shrugged. "Of course, all this marble is enough to make anyone uneasy, so I don't blame him."

"Oh, of course not," she replied with smile. She silently thanked the gods for the oddity that was Gareth. His quirky sense of humor always prevailed.

He handed her a brush he had taken from a saddle bag. She went to work on Jalden's sweaty coat while Gareth wandered off to ask about food. She hummed a slow, dancing tune as she ran the brush over the gelding's gray hair. Jalden's muscles shuddered as he relaxed under her sensitive touch. She, like most Sarmatians, always found comfort in horses. Their will power and subtle intelligence were enough drive you insane but a loyal friend could always be found in a horse. She had made bonds with most of the horses during their journey. Each one had a different personality and had to be treated accordingly. The gelding under the brush right now was a placid type but hated to go ungroomed for long periods of time. Jalden was thoroughly enjoying the attention he was receiving at the moment. He would occasionally lean into the brushstrokes, almost forcing Ketchia backward with his enthusiasm.

Jalden's coat was shining clean when an enraged shout made his ears lay back against his head.

"That's it, you vicious little monster! Gimme that!"

"No, Bedivere, don't! NO!"

Ketchia laid a soothing hand on the gelding's shoulder. She watched as a familiar slingshot flew overhead in a graceful arc, landing in the grass a few yards away. She rolled her eyes and patted Jalden's shoulder before walking over and picking it up. She rubbed her finger along the wood as Galahad came stomping through the yard, punching at the air and growling to himself. He stormed past Ketchia without even glancing at her, going to exactly where his slingshot should have been.

"Where is it?" he demanded of the earth. He glared back in the general direction he had come from, his blue eyes dark with fury. "Damn Bedivere…damn slingshot…damn Romans…" His young tongue was well-versed in curses. Before becoming a knight, Ketchia's ears burned at such words; now they were apart of her own vocabulary, though she used them much more sparingly than the others. Galahad, in futile attempt to find his slingshot, kicked at the ground, throwing up dirt and bits of grass in his frustration. Ketchia sighed a bit and stuck the slingshot in her belt. Bedivere probably had a good reason for tossing the slingshot; lately Galahad had taken to tormenting people at every possible chance. It would not hurt him to be without it for a little while. She finished brushing Jalden while the boy rode out his temper tantrum. He finally stomped off, shouldering past Gareth who was returning from his search for food. Gareth tossed a questioning look after Galahad then turned it towards Ketchia.

"What's wrong with Gal?" he asked, putting a small bag down next to the poll. Ketchia pulled out the slingshot and wiggled it a bit.

"Bedivere threw it over here," she told him. She stuffed it back in her belt and smirked. "I just thought he should have to earn it back since he's been such a brat lately." Gareth snorted and opened the bag.

"Earn it back? No," he announced, pulling a hard piece of bread from the bag. He gnawed a piece off then motioned towards her with it. "Our dear little Galahad will just beg a new one from Bors."

"And who says I'll give in to the snip?" Bors' robust voice preceded him like a noisy herald as he walked towards them. He grabbed Gareth's hunk of bread as he passed him, earning him a brief glare from the younger knight. "That gremlin had the gall to shoot me this morning! Me, can you believe it?" He shoved the bread into his mouth. Gareth's scowl bent his eyebrows further.

"I can," he muttered and fished another piece of bread out of the bag. He brought it to his lips only to have it snatched away by Bors. "Hey!"

"Manners, boy!" exclaimed Bors. He tossed the bread to Ketchia who snatched it out of the air with both hands. Bors frowned disapprovingly at Gareth. "Ladies always go first."

"Ketchia is _not _a lady," Gareth replied seriously, pulling a third piece of bread from the bag. He waved the bread at the girl. "She's just Ketchia. She's just a girl."

"And you're just Gareth," Ketchia said scathingly as she glared at him over her bread, brown eyes dark with aggravation. She hated to feel inferior. "You're just a boy."

"Well, at least as "just a boy", I'm supposed to be here," he shot back, returning her glare. Ketchia bit down on the inside of her bottom lip. This wasn't the first time she had run into this argument but it was the first time it had come from one of her closet friends.

"Do you think I didn't know that already?" She snapped. "I never said I wanted to be here." Her eyes had narrowed into tiny slits as she took an angry step towards Gareth. The boy rolled his eyes at her.

"Oh, how sad for you, Ket," he said in a mocking tone. Ketchia looked like she was going to burn a hole through him with her eyes. Bors wasn't sure on how to diffuse the situation so he sat back and let them goes at it. Gareth scowled. "None of us want to be here."

"I didn't say-"

"Lay off, you two," Gawain interrupted with a tired sigh as he walked towards them. Ketchia stepped away from Gareth, loosening the tension that had been gathering. Gawain reached over and took the piece of bread from Gareth's hand. The younger boy jumped up and flung the bag away.

"Fine! Take it! I'm obviously not starving!" He threw his hands into the air and barreled past his brother and Bors. He whirled around and pointed at all of them. "The Christian's Devil take you all!"

"What's wrong with him?" Gawain asked with a touch of concern, watching his brother storm off. Bors laughed and clapped him on the back.

"That was the third time the lad's had his meal taken from him," he replied. Gawain sighed again, heavier this time.

It's not like you could know," Ketchia put in. The venom in her voice caught Gawain's attention and he glanced at Bors. He immediately shook his head, warning the blonde not to get into it. The girl was still riled up from the argument she and Gareth had.

"Who cares if he starves anyway?" she continued, picking at her bread with angry motions. "All he does is complain all day about how his ass hurts and how cold it is, like the rest of us are well off and comfortable and he's the only one suffering." She tore off a chunk of her bread and popped it into her mouth. Her teeth slammed down on it with the ferocity of a wolf biting a sheep's neck.

"Even if he is an ass," Gawain said, walking towards her, "he's still my brother and I'm pledged to protect him, meaning I'm supposed to keep him alive." He gave her a faint smile. "You wouldn't want my pledge to be broken, would you?" She refused to answer, instead, resorting to the avoidance tactic of filling her mouth with food. She narrowed her eyes at Gawain to tell him her decision at the moment and stalked away.

Her already bad mood had spiraled into a foul temper. The same mood was permeating the rest of the camp, probably spawned by the close proximity to a symbol of Roman power. The sounds of merrymaking could be heard from beyond the walls along with the sound of joyful voices. Ketchia shoved her hands angrily into her belt. Why were some people so happy while others lived in misery? Her life was being dictated by a war that happened centuries ago. Life was not fair, in any way.

"Such an angry face, Ketchia," remarked Lancelot pithily as she brushed past him. He gave a chuckle. "Careful, we wouldn't want it stick that way." The taunting tone made her stop and turn back around on her heel. His teasing grin matched his voice. "Of course, then you wouldn't even have to learn to use a sword. One look at you and the enemy would run the other way, mourning their ruined eyes." He grinned at her as if to put the final touch to his stinging words.

Before she could control herself, Ketchia reached down and grabbed a stone from the ground. She let out an enraged scream as she brought her arm back and chucked it as hard as she could at Lancelot. His grin turned promptly into a grimace as the rock hit him hard in the thigh.

"You wretched bastard!" She picked up another stone and let it fly. It hit Lancelot hard in the shoulder and he let out a shout. "What in the name of the Goddess did I ever do to you?" Lancelot went wide-eyed as Ketchia bent down for yet another stone. He had never seen Ketchia lose her temper before, even though he had pushed her to the limits of her tolerance many a time. He covered his face with his arms as another stone flew at him. He gritted his teeth as the stone clipped him on the elbow.

"Damn it, Ketchia!" he roared, lunging towards her. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Maybe!" she screamed back. "I personally don't think it'd be that great of a loss!" Unable to find see any more loose stones of a good size on the ground, she pulled Galahad's slingshot out of her belt and flung it at him. He let out a shout as it bounced off his head. He advanced on her and she started towards him. Both of them looked like they were ready for a fight to the finish. Suddenly, a pair of arms circled around Ketchia and hauled her back. She squealed in her rage but was powerless to get away. She lost all of her restraint and started kicking her captor mercilessly. One of the arms let go and wrapped around her legs, pulling her up until she was being held bride-style. Kay's face came into view. She quieted almost immediately, shame making her cheeks hot, but her anger was still roused.

"Put me down, I can walk," she hissed, glaring up at him. His blue eyes peered down at her before he set her on her feet. She pulled away and turned her back to him like a little child.

"What exactly has gotten into you, Ket?" he asked, watching her closely. Silence created a wall between them. Kay was used to this treatment and pressed onward. "It isn't like you to strike another."

Ketchia glared off into the sky, refusing to talk to him. The moon had started to rise and the first stars were visible against the pale gray backdrop. She did not want to answer Kay. So what if she had let her temper run off with her? It was just once. Fights happened all the time. True, stones were usually not involved but fists and feet were. Kay placed his hand on her shoulder but she dropped from his touch.

"What upsets you?" his voice came from above her head. She flared again but suppressed her anger this time.

"Nothing," she grumbled through gritted teeth. Another star appeared above them. "I'm fine."

"That is a bold lie, Ket," he said. He took her firmly by the shoulder and turned her around. Her fire cooled as his blue eyes peered down at her. "Whatever Lancelot has said to you, it means nothing."

"It wasn't Lancelot," Ketchia mumbled. She averted her gaze from Kay's piercing stare. "It was Gareth. He said I shouldn't be here, like I wished this upon myself." She tried to keep the scowl off her face.

Kay gave a soft, sad laugh and shook his head. "Gareth let his mouth run away with him. You should pay no heed to what he says, especially today." He looked back at the camp. "No one is in their best mood." He rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "Still, that does not explain why you were throwing stones at Lancelot's head."

Ketchia was glad for the change of subject. She did not want to get into how angry Gareth had made her. Instead, she moved onto the embarrassing subject of her actions towards Lancelot.

"Lancelot tried my patience and found me wanting," she replied after a moment of carefully choosing her words. She smiled a little at Kay, hoping that he might side with her.

"Ha!" Kay's burst of laughter surprised her. "It was about time someone put that upstart in his place." He clapped her on the shoulder. "I can't tell you that it was a good job, but I will say that it this might have a positive effect on Lancelot."

"It won't happen again," she replied quickly. She attempted to lessen the amusement in her eyes. "At least, not for a while."

"That will make my life easier if it should be that way," said Kay. He let a grin shine. "But Lancelot's face when you threw that first stone! Gods, what I would give to see it again!"


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own King Arthur. If I did, I'd give you all shares and we could be a company! King Arthur Fanfiction Writers and Obsessive Fangirls Inc. KAFWOFI. I like it. ;o)

**Chapter Nine**

Boredom, Ketchia decided without much deliberation, was a horrible enemy. The last couple of weeks seemed to be the slowest in her short life. The Romans spent the nights drinking themselves into stupors and wasting the days sleeping off headaches. She could not see the point of making a fool of yourself by getting retching drunk, being in pain all day from a hangover, then repeating the process over again without any derivations. Ketchia tried to put her own time to good use. She practiced swordplay with Gawain, Bors, and whoever else she could find but that activity got tiring after a while. She was improving; she no longer lost her balance easily but keeping hold of the hilt still proved to be a challenge. Sometimes she would join Gawain in walking or running around the vineyard so they would not become sedentary. The rest of her time was spent in a gnawing wait to leave the mansion.

Ketchia ran her fingers across the dry ground, creating tiny valleys and mountains with the dirt. As punishment for fighting, she was supposed to be keeping Galahad and the other younger boys amused. She had no complaints; she still got a grin of satisfaction on her face every time she saw the bruises Lancelot sported. He had not bothered her since that day and she was glad for the relief.

She barely glanced up as Gareth clomped by her miniature landscape, his heavy boots nearly crushing her fingers. He had been nicer to her after Kay had spoken with him but that did not mean that she had forgotten what he had said. It had hurt her more than any of Lancelot's stupid taunts. She watched him pace in front of her for a few minutes before he let out an aggravated groan and slammed his fists against the wall.

"I need something to do!"

"Kill Galahad," a skinny boy with shaggy black hair suggested. Dinadan's brown eyes were splashed with mischief but his voice was serious. Galahad had not taken the waiting as well as the others. His devious mind had come up with numerous ways to past the time and they were getting increasingly daring. His latest escapade, one that involved freeing all of the horses in the middle of the night, had been nearly disastrous. It had taken all of them until dawn to round up the small herd up. It had also required a hasty attempt to fix any damage done to the vineyard before the Romans found out. Dinadan continued with a big grin, "You'd be doing us all a favor."

"Would not!" Galahad exclaimed angrily, bunching his hands into fists. He flung himself at Dinadan and a less than fierce wrestling match started. Ketchia let them go at it, glad for a bit of entertainment. It wasn't cruel; neither of them was strong enough to do the other much harm and they needed the exercise.

"Get him, Gal!" she encouraged, hooting and hollering. Galahad attacked with renewed zeal, pouncing on Dinadan like a mouse ambushing a cat. She cupped her hands over her mouth and cheered her small favorite on. They were fun to watch, two kids trying to be just like the older boys. Dagonet, who was helping Ketchia with her chore, finally tired of the match and swiped the boys up, one with each arm. He threw Dinadan over his shoulder like a sack of food while the nine-year-old tried to squirm out of his grasp. Galahad was stuffed under his arm, yelling about the stench as he was forced past Dag's armpit.

"At him!" shouted Dinadan imperiously to the other boys. Dagonet was immediately set upon by the other three boys, Yvain, Griflet, and Safir, who felt a certain amount of loyal comradeship toward their captive friends. A deep thunderclap of laughter burst out of the young man as the children crashed into him.

"Gareth, Ket, help!" shouted Galahad, throwing his arms out towards the girl with a strained look of pleading on his face. Griflet, a stringy dark-haired lad of about eight, had a strong grip on his legs and was trying to yank him out of Dagonet's arms. Ketchia glanced at the moody Gareth, wondering what he would do. Like most pig-headed boys, he considered playing with the younger children below him. Then again, he might be desperate enough to do just that if it meant it would dispel the heavy layer of boredom that was making him ornery. Deciding that she did not care what Gareth did, Ketchia went to Galahad's rescue, her wild brown hair flying about her in the wind.

"That is not fair," Dagonet grumbled in mock resentment as Ketchia leapt on his back, her arms encircling his neck. She struggled to get just the right grip as the boys cavorted around Dagonet, yelling and teasing each other like roguish imps.

"Is so!" cried Galahad. He was still struggling to squeeze out of the giant's hold. "Ketchia can fight too!"

"Thank you, Gal," Ketchia said then directed her voice into Dagonet's nearby ear. "I'd say you're about seven of them put together and I'm about two of them. Right?"

"Possibly," he replied with a grunt. He was busy protecting himself from small fists that were definitely aimed below his belt. The boys fell backwards onto their rears as he gave them gentle shoves to the chest.

"Including me," she reasoned, "that makes seven of them which, I think, makes everything even."

He chuckled and Ketchia felt the thick rumble tremble through her. "I suppose there is no argument to that logic."

He started a counter attack of tickling his miniature assailants away with his huge hands. To their personal disgust, they started shrieking with unmanly giggles, doubling over with laughter. All of this action was making it very hard to stay attached to Dagonet. Ketchia wrapped her legs around his midsection, catching him in a crablike grip. She screamed with laughter as he swung around like a whip and headed after the wily Yvain who was trying to sneak away.

"Not so shrill, Ket," he said, shaking his head to rid himself of the incessant ringing.

"Oh, sorry."

It was clear that the battle was going downhill. Ketchia's arms were tiring and so was the resolve of the boys to tip Dagonet over. She slid off his back and landed on her feet, stumbling a bit as she hit the ground. A strong hand reached out and caught her arm.

"Don't fall now," Gareth said, giving her a shy smile that was a sharp contrast to his earlier expression. "Couldn't have you twisting your ankle after all that." He knew she was still angry with him and he wanted to put their friendship back to order. This was Gareth's way of saying he was sorry, a half-hearted joke and a smile. She clasped his shoulder and grinned back, silently accepting his unspoken apology. Then she socked him in the arm, restoring the carefree atmosphere.

"Like you actually care for my well-being," she said and pulled away from him, her rich earth eyes glittering with good humor. "You care for nothing but the sound of your own voice and you use it enough to be mightily pleased." The smile on his face brightened for a moment at the familiar teasing but it was quickly replaced by feigned offence.

"Unfair accusation!" he cried and gripped his vest over his heart. "You have wounded my spirit deeply, milady. I am soul-slain!"

Ketchia raised her eyebrows as he fell to the ground, playacting as if he had received a grievous injury. She bent down beside him and patted his hand after he gave one final dramatic jerk.

"You'll recover," she said unsympathetically. As she stood up, she brushed some of the dust off of her pants onto him just to be contrary.

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Ketchia blinked awake and saw the stars glittering distantly above her head. She was disoriented for a moment, laying on the ground with her travel cloak pulled up around her neck. Her senses returned to her quickly. It could not have been more than an hour since she had fallen asleep. She pushed herself up on her elbow and gazed around sleepily. Still feeling a little unwelcome, Gareth was sleeping far-off from their campsite, so he was nowhere in sight. Gawain was curled up near her, burrowed deeply into his bedroll. His curly blonde hair had fallen into his face, giving him the appearance of a giant hairball. It blew about in tuffs as he snored. In between the two of them slept Galahad, peacefully sucking his thumb and looking ironically angelic in his sleep. She grinned and shook her head in wry amusement. Amusement turned to alarm as a flash of a torch flame crackled into the corner of her eye and raucous chortles burst in the air. Ketchia lowered back down to her bedroll but not so much that she could not see who had woken her up.

Romans were stumbling about their camp, kicking at sleeping boys and disrupting the couple of fires that were still burning. Annoyed exclamations poured out against the drunken laughter and the sounds of protest began to rise. Jalden snorted with agitation and stamped his hoof repeatedly. As if he was in-tune with the gelding, Gawain sat up and brushed the hair from his face to reveal a sleepy frown.

"What's happening?" he asked gruffly, narrowing his eyes in the dim moonlight. Jalden calmed slightly at the voice of his rider but his eyes were still wide, showing white as they rolled anxiously in the gelding's head.

"I don't know," Ketchia answered, her voice only a whisper so as not to wake Galahad. Having a worried, frantic child to deal with was the last thing they would need. Gawain rose up further, drawing one leg to him as the voices grew louder, breaking any semblance of peace that had remained in the night. The torches blazed and their reflection glinted harsh orange in Ketchia's dark eyes.

"Stay here," he ordered as he pushed away from the ground, his movements sluggish. He started pulling on the muddy boots that he had taken off before he went to sleep. Ketchia was about to protest when he caught her gaze for an instant. She read the warning he was sending her but she could not just sink placidly back down into her bedroll.

"I will," she agreed with soft obedience, but she slipped her legs out of her blanket and sat cross-legged on top of her bedroll, muscles tense. "Don't do anything rash, please, Gawain?" Her voice sounded high and frightened as she pleaded with him.

"I won't," he replied seriously, forgoing any joke or bit of humor. He gave his boots a final tug before getting up. As he went past, he gave the girl's thin shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Ketchia wrapped her arms around her knees and watched his silhouette grow more distinct against the torch flames as he drew farther away. She felt vulnerable without Gawain's husky, comforting presence and she wanted him to come back. Beside her, Galahad stirred in his sleep, raising as arm into the air as if to grasp some phantom object then letting it fall back down. His face was wrenched into a frown. Gently, she brushed her fingers gingerly against his cheek, hoping to soothe whatever nightmare he might be having. He bent towards her touch and settled down, relaxing into a peaceful expression that contrasted with the enraged yells that were now pounding around the encampment. It was a wonder he could even sleep.

"C'mon, you spirited little bastard, let's see you've what got!" someone called out clearly, their voice ragged with the fire of strong wine. Ketchia popped up from her bedroll, unable to stay compliant to Gawain's request any longer. Bending down low in an unobtrusive creep, she slinked off towards the noise.

The Romans had roused one of the boys (which one Ketchia could not tell in the darkness) into such a rage that he had lashed out against them with his fists. She watched from behind one of the grapevines as he struggled between a pair of the drunken brutes. They had unsheathed their spathas and snatched him away from the others, handling him roughly. They finally shoved him down on the ground where he scrambled to his feet, whipping around so he could face them. A flash of unruly black curls found the rebel to be an irritated Lancelot. He tossed flippant taunts at the burly men as they hovered nearby, ready to thrash him for the next biting remark he said.

"Are you too afraid to strike me?" he asked, glaring at them defiantly with his fists still raised up near his face. "Or do you think the edge of your sword not sharp enough to pierce the hide of a devil such as myself?"

"Devil you be!" snapped a Roman, waving his wobbly sword at Lancelot's chest. He was bright red with alcohol in his veins as he stumbled towards him. "A demon-child whose blood shall stain my sword."

"Nay, let me have at him first! That one has been asking for the bite of a blade since he joined our company," cried another, pulling his arm back and slashing violently at Lancelot. With one swift action, the boy ducked down and rolled out of harm's way.

"Cowards!" Lancelot shouted, spitting at their feet as he sprang up, "A Sarmatian should not waste breath on insulting you." The other young knights who had formed a loose ring around the scene cheered him on while Ketchia hid in the thick vines out of harm's way. For once, she did not feel immediate dislike burn in her at the sight of Lancelot. Instead, she hoped that the Romans would not hurt him; if they had to injure him, it should only have been a little. Even if he was an ass, he did not deserve to be skewered on a dirty Roman spatha. Kay had similar notions and interposed himself between the incensed soldiers and their mocking victim.

"Don't harm him," Kay said with a clear, commanding voice as he held up his hand to stop their advance. Confused by his sudden appearance, the Romans halted and stared at him, swaying on their feet. "His anger is quick and he has not yet found when silence is best suits his tongue." Kay spoke with an amazing amount of composure; she could tell he was trying to soothe the drunken men's' tempers and divert their attention from Lancelot.

"Such impudence will'nt go unpunished," one on them said warily, glancing from the well-muscled youth before him to the wiry, sullen boy he was protecting. It was obvious that he would much rather take out his frustration on Lancelot.

"What do you plan to do with him?" Kay asked, never taking his eyes off of the Romans. His stance betrayed him for being ready for an attack. The man who seemed the most sober leveled his gaze with Kay's.

"We will bring him before Quintilius," he announced grimly, jerking his head back towards the mansion. "Our commander shall decide what is to be done with him." An iniquitous smile carved itself into his face. "You may know that it will not be pleasant."

The young knights had grown quiet and many were giving Lancelot sympathetic looks that he ignored with stubborn indifference. He did not need their pity; all he needed was to bash in a few Roman skulls. The next words out of Kay's mouth leveled everyone.

"I will take his place."

Ketchia's breath caught and she gaped at Kay as the others burst out in loud voices to yell at Kay's stupidity. Why would he do such a thing? Quintilius had no greater love for him than he did for Lancelot; there would not be a lesser punishment for the young man. She pushed the vines farther apart, hoping someone would try to talk sense into him. If not, she had all intentions of stopping him herself, no matter what the consequences.

"No, Kay, you cannot do that!" Lancelot exclaimed, grabbing the older boy's upper arm and tugging him so they were face to face. Guilt rang through him for the first time that night at Kay's act of self-sacrifice. He knew he had been nothing but a thorn to everyone but still he was defended as if he were a brother. He locked his nearly black eyes with Kay's blue ones. "You won't."

Kay shook his head and pried Lancelot's fingers off. "You no longer have a say," he told him solemnly before turning back to the Romans, holding himself proud like a statue of a hero. "I am ready."

They did not know whether to believe him or not but after he started marching himself towards the mansion, they followed eagerly, staggering since they were still affected by the alcohol. Not wanting to leave their leader completely to Roman will, many of the Sarmatian boys followed them, eyes burning with the heat of anger. Bending over, Ketchia stepped through the vines and made as if to join the others. A hand fell on her shoulder and drew her back with a snap. She twisted her way out of the person's touch, making a shrill noise of distress as she nearly panicked. Someone put a palm over her mouth and grabbed her about the waist. Still fighting and screaming, Ketchia was pulled backwards, the person pressing her back against a firm chest.

"Stop squealing, you are not a pig." Tristan's voice was as heavy as a thick mist in her ear as he whispered harshly to her. Her heart was beating so hard that she was certain he could feel it thudding against him.

"Let go of me," she hissed, embarrassed and incredibly relieved at finding she was not being attacked. Sparking with irritation, she pushed his arm away with both hands and leapt out of his hold. "I was not squealing and you have no right to keep me like that!" she told, her voice kept at a harsh whisper. Tristan let out a low scoffing laugh at her indignant little self.

"If I had not caught you, you would be warming the blood of a Roman before the night was over," he said, his ancient grey eyes chastising her. Ketchia moved back away from him and crossed her arms over her chest in a sulk. She was annoyed with herself; she should have thought of that before he had. It would have been dangerous for her to have entered the mansion while the Romans were feasting, the serving girls had told her that much. They would come back to the servants' quarters with bruises on their faces and a careful step.

"I would not have been seen," countered Ketchia moodily, "I would not have gone as far as the pavilion."

"You would not have had to," said Tristan as he started to leave. "The guards at the gate are not above taking you."

He did not say another word as he walked away, almost blending into the shadows. Ketchia was not going to be so easily brushed off. She followed him but she was not nearly as quiet as the scout. Dried-out leaves crackled beneath her boots and her clothing brushed against the living vines, making rustling noises wherever she went. Tristan seemed not to notice her as they crept along, heading towards the mansion through the vineyard. Ketchia wondered if he was slightly deaf…no, he probably was just ignoring her.

The silence between them would have unnerved many people, but Ketchia had become used to such quiet during her long rides with Tinus. It had almost become like a game to her to see how long she could go without talking to the Roman; the count was now up to a length of three days. Now she was playing the game with Tristan and she was determined to win.

As they passed the entrance into the mansion, Ketchia could hear the sounds of music, mostly harps and flutes, along with men's voices raised to the point of shouting. She glanced at the profile of Tristan's face, trying to see his reaction but he made no attempt to look at her. Uncertain of where they were going, Ketchia drew closer to the stealthy scout and started to mimic his every movement. Things became much quieter as her feet fell where his had been. For a second, she thought she saw his eyes flash back at her in amusement but when she tried to catch him, his gaze was back forward.

Tristan led her away from the entrance until they came to a small dent in the wall. He pulled aside vines and other plant growth to reveal a thick, wooden door. He did not even try to pick the lock; he pushed the door and it slowly opened under his exertions. Slipping inside, Tristan waited in the shadows until the girl had entered after him before closing the door with the same careful touch. He motioned for her to keep close and she obeyed his order, not really having much of a choice to do otherwise.

As a pair, they kept in the dark, hiding, slipping past surly, toga-wearing Romans and servants as if they were only ghosts, something to be ignored. The mansion was in an uproar and Ketchia doubted anyone would have noticed them even if they had walked right through the front entrance and into the Master's Courtyard. She kept in Tristan's shadow as he took twists and turns down the hallways. She had no idea how he knew where he was going but he seemed to know the layout of the building very well. The interesting artwork and decorations kept catching her attention; she wanted to wander off to investigate but she understood the need to keep up and not dawdle. The voices were growing louder and Tristan had increased his pace. Ketchia was nearly running now to keep up with the long-legged scout.

They slipped into the Master's Courtyard from one of the servant entrances and melted into the back wall. Ketchia's hand went to her mouth to keep herself from crying out at what she saw.

Kay had been stripped of his tunic and whipped while they had been sneaking into the courtyard. His blood glistened in the torch light, a hideous shining scarlet as it trickled down his bare, well-muscled back. Deep groves had been cut into his flesh by the whip and sand had clotted with the blood as if he had fallen to the ground. A Roman guard, in full armor, took a swing at the youth's face as the other men jeered and raised their goblets in a roar of blood-lust. Kay let the punch come, not even trying to defend himself; he tilted over, barely catching himself with his hands.

"What do you say now, boy!" shouted the Roman, landing a kick to the oldest knight's side. "So much for your sacrifice."

Another Roman legionnaire laughed, holding his side as wine splashed from his cup and down the front of his red tunic. He tossed the cup to the side and leered. "For you, barbarian, virtue was a curse," he ridiculed as he swaggered over to the fallen knight. He bent down, his hands on his knees to steady himself, and spit directly into Kay's face. Kay stiffened but did not strike back. His hand moved slowly as he wiped the saliva from his face and crawled to his feet. Barely able to keep his balance, Kay turned to the Roman, his expression one of stony aversion.

"To you and yours, I know that to be true, but for my people, virtue is still held high," said Kay, his calm voice replying in nearly perfect Latin. His cold eyes glared back at the Roman, ice blue battling the tepid green. "And you call me the barbarian." The man's face contorted with rage then struck the boy a back-handed slap to the face.

"Motherless bastard, you will regret your words!" he roared as Kay stepped backwards from the blow. He took the whip, crimson still clinging to the leather, from the table it was laying across. Kay's blood had made a red stain on the pristine marble. Ketchia jerked as the whip cracked and the Romans cheered.

"Sarmatian hound!" cried another, condemning the boy. The other Romans called out insults from their comfortable pillows as the legionnaire landed the bite of the whip against the undefended Kay.

"Blood-drinking monster!"

"Sickening swine!"

Kay tried to keep his feet but his weakened legs folded beneath his body, sending him down into a heap on the dirty floor. The Romans brayed with laughter and the few slave girls sitting around twittered like mocking birds. Ketchia reached out as if she could help Kay but Tristan snatched her arm back with a fierce look. She could not give away their position. She had noticed briefly when they walked in that they were the only Sarmatians in the Master's Courtyard and wondered what had happened to the crowd that had followed Kay. Dropping back against the wall, Ketchia put her face to her knees to shield her eyes as the onslaught continued. Kay could not survive this, it was impossible.

Tristan watched Kay's undeserved punishment with a hard glare. There was nothing he could do; this had been Kay's choice. A stern dark gaze suddenly met his and Tristan stepped backward, startled. Tinus was staring at him from the other wall, his position nearly parallel to the two Sarmatians. He mouthed one word to Tristan, '_Go_', before slipping out the door on his side.

Heeding the older man's warning, Tristan briefly put his hand on Ketchia's shoulder. Tearful brown eyes asked questions that he couldn't answer as she locked her gaze with his. He really was not that much older than her. He was only fifteen but he had always acted more mature than other people his age; it was a trait that he had developed since his tribe was a warring one that always needed responsible fighters. The torture Kay was being put to was extraordinary and Tristan inwardly bristled with the desire to slit Roman throats but he knew that now was not the time to act on his emotions. It would only serve to the discovery of himself and Ketchia.

"Come," he whispered to her. She rose with jerky movements and avoided looking at Kay. Tristan trusted her to keep up as he led the way back out of the mansion, only taking the hallways that he knew to be the least used. He had studied the building during their stay there, slipping in though the small door in the wall to spy on the Romans. There was nothing better to do and it was always best to know the home of the enemy. He glanced a few times over his shoulder to make sure the girl was following only to find her right on his heels, her head turning constantly from side to side to make sure no one saw them. She was learning fast.

Since many of the servants were busy attending to the Romans' needs, the two Sarmatians easily made it back to the outer yard and through the door in the wall. Ketchia breathed the night air in deeply, clearing the smell of vomited wine and the sweat of men from her nose. She welcomed the scent of rich earth as it filled her lungs. She sighed and bowed her head in tired relief to be away from the mansion. It was late and she was both physically and emotionally exhausted. Tristan was quickly making his way towards the servants' quarters through the grape vines; his motions were smooth but hurried, and Ketchia strained to keep up. He did not slow down for her but she did notice that he kept to the main paths instead of cutting straight through the vineyard.

They traversed the vineyard and entered the servant quarters. The fires that the Romans had disturbed had been righted and brought back to roaring, bright bonfires. Around them, the Sarmatian boys gathered and growled helpless insults at the walls, hoping they would permeate through to the Romans. Tristan melted away from Ketchia as they walked towards the fires. He headed straight for Dagonet who was standing with his back to the wall and talking in harsh whispers with Bors. Ketchia paused for a moment, staring at one of the fires without really looking at it; everything was a jumble of juxtaposed scenes in her head. There was the fight, Lancelot, Kay, the vineyard, the door in the wall, Kay again and the Romans… Ketchia shook her head. There was just too much to sort through at the moment; she just wanted to sleep and forget.

Her feet took her, stumbling from fatigue, back to her bedroll. She saw that Galahad was exactly where she had left him, huddled up under his blanket and sucking on his thumb. Goddess, he was so young. Ketchia rubbed anxiously at the scar on the top of her wrist. They were all so young. Did the Romans not even care that the man they were abusing was barely a man? That they were sending the children of their enemies to fight their battles? That most of them would die before seeing their twentieth birthday?

_No,_ thought Ketchia before she laid down on her bedroll, her forehead pressed up against her palms, _they don't._

A/N: Thank you everyone who reviewed my story! I'll start review replying on this chapter, it was very confusing to me on how to review reply… (scratches head) But I'll get it down so I can thank you all properly:o)


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own King Arthur. Somebody else does though and they are a very lucky person/people.

**Chapter Ten**

Four days after the beating of Kay, the Roman convoy departed from the rich mansion. As their horses trotted single file down the lane through the vineyards, Ketchia felt relief bubble up inside her. It created a sunburst of a grin on her face which she quickly suppressed into a brief satisfied look. Leaving was wonderful but it was going to create at least one problem; the stress of the constant riding was not going to be helpful for Kay, who was healing very slowly.

When Kay had finally been released back to the Sarmatians, he had been barely breathing and each movement caused him excruciating pain. Dagonet had cleaned the sand from the bloody stripes on his back and bandaged him up, but he had been uncertain if Kay would make it through the night. The oldest knight's determination had served him well, and he struggled through it all without infection. He even insisted on riding by himself, although Dagonet was riding directly beside him.

Lancelot, anxiousness clinging to him like a shroud, had become Kay's constant companion; the boy had not left Kay's side since he had been returned. He obviously felt incredibly guilty for what had happened and rightfully so Ketchia thought.

"What are you thinking of, girl?" Tinus asked in a quiet grumble as his grey mare clomped down the mountainside at her usual cumbersome pace. Ketchia's torso was turned sideways as she watched the vineyard pass by slowly, one hand resting on the horse's flank and the other holding the saddle.

"Nothing," she replied, twisting back around to face forwards.

"That is an answer for the dead," Tinus said, shifting a bit in the saddle. There was a touch of amusement to his voice but it was no more than a trace amount. "No one living thinks of nothing."

Ketchia sighed and looked back out at the land. They were almost to the edge of the vineyards, which had been picked through entirely. No grape had been left for the birds to feast on or for a hungry slave to eat. "I was thinking about Kay."

"Hmm, the selfless one," mumbled Tinus. There was a pause and Ketchia wondered if he was going to say anything else. "What he did was foolish yet honorable."

"The Romans do not believe that," Ketchia said darkly, casting her gaze on the moving ground beneath them. "They think he acted as a stupid boy, but he isn't. Kay is…" she tried to think of the perfect word, "noble."

Tinus became silent and the noise of the mare's hooves hitting the hard, packed earth was the only sound for some time. Ketchia thought that maybe the rest of the day would go this way and started to fall back into the old rhythm of balancing and watching the scenery. The vineyards were growing small in the distance, shrinking as they became nothing but a nasty memory for her.

"You're afraid that he is going to die." Tinus' voice startled her and she sat up straighter, staring at the back of his glinting helmet. "It is possible, since he is very weak right now. He should not have been moved, but we are due back in Ostia soon."

"He will not die!" Ketchia hissed at him, showing an desperate defiance at the very idea. "He can't."

"He can, and there is a good chance that he might," said Tinus, his voice serious and grave. He sighed in an old, tired way, like an elder in her village might sigh. "If he does, he will not be the last of your friends to do so. You must understand, girl, that you are going to be a knight. There will be many of your comrades that will not see the end of your fifteen years." He turned his head to the side so he could catch her dark brown eyes with his gaze. "You could be one of them."

Ketchia stared back at him, confusing emotions welling up inside of her. She was worried, angry, frightened; she knew very well that Tinus' words were true. "I promised my mother that I would return," she whispered to him, "I cannot break my vow."

"War and battle do not care about promises," Tinus said, facing forwards again. "They tear apart everything that comes into them and trust me, you will be in battles. Your fear, if you allow it to take hold of you, will be the end of you."

Ketchia glowered at him, hating him for being right, for being Roman, for existing. Why would he say such things to her? Unable to stand being near him any longer, Ketchia swung down from the mare, hitting the ground as lightly as she could. The mare skittered to the side, but Tinus quickly soothed her. They continued forward as if the girl had not just jumped off. He did not turn around to see if she was going to rejoin him.

Ketchia stood there for a moment in the strange, hateful land of Rome, her traveling cloak wrapped tightly around her like her mother's hug. She wanted to go home. Out of all the girls in all of Sarmatia, why her?

"Ketchia," a voice called out from behind her, "What are you doing? Where's Tinus?"

Spinning around, Ketchia found herself face to nose with a soft-eyed, grey horse. Gawain was looking down at her, eyes narrowed and creating creases in his face. Galahad, unable to ride with Kay at the moment, was sitting in front of Gawain, right behind the gelding's withers. Gawain had one arm wrapped loosely around the boy, aiding his balance. Poking his head over Gawain's cloaked shoulder was Gareth. They looked like a three-headed, six-armed, six-legged monster atop the sturdy grey gelding. Their presence eased her anger, and she shook her head, a small smile on her face.

"He's up ahead. I felt like walking for a while," she said, motioning up the caravan line with her hand. It was the truth, just not in its fullest. Gawain nodded his head, accepting her story for the moment. He would probably ask her later what had happened, and she would tell him then. For now, though, she was glad not to be questioned.

"If you tire, or we start on a faster leg, Dagonet and Lancelot are behind us," Gawain told her as she started walking beside Jalden. "I would take you but I think poor Jal here might break if I sling one more person onto his back."

"It's only because Gawain is so fat that the horse's back is bowing," Gareth said, patting the gelding's rump sympathetically. "You see, Ket, if it was just me, Jalden would be in perfect condition. But no, Gawain insists that he should ride too, and that is why Jalden is in such poor health."

Ketchia chuckled as Gawain spluttered and clenched the reins tightly. "Jalden is fine, you devil," snarled Gawain, "If we weren't astride, I'd-"

"Hit me? Kick me? Rip my truth-telling throat out with your bare hands?" Gareth asked, ticking off the possibilities on his fingers.

"I'm thinking that he should kick you," Galahad put in from up front. "But you _are_ heaviest, Gawain," he added as if having to balance out whose side he was on.

Gawain gave a strangled sigh and halted Jalden. He dismounted, swinging his leg over Gareth's head; Gareth barely ducked with enough time not to be smacked off the horse. Gawain tossed the reins to Galahad who beamed with his newly bestowed responsibility. His joy was short-lived; Gareth pulled the reins out of his hands the second after he caught them.

"Jalden is too much for you to handle, boy," Gareth told Galahad with his chin raised in the air as he slipped farther up into the saddle. Galahad immediately frowned, indignant fire flashing in his blue eyes.

"Is not! He's a gelding so he's gentler so I can have the reins, right, Gawain?" Galahad demanded, widening his eyes pleadingly as he looked at the older blonde. Gawain shrugged as he walked along beside Ketchia.

"You two figure that out. I'm obviously too fat to have anything to do with a horse," Gawain said with a snort on the end of his sarcastic sentence. Ketchia rolled her eyes as the Jalden trotted on ahead without direction, Galahad and Gareth still bickering at each other.

"Thank you for the company," Ketchia said, knowing he would not have gotten off the horse if she had not been walking. He shrugged and smiled at her.

"I had been looking for a good reason to get away from those two ever since we left that place."

"That was not very long ago, Gawain," Ketchia said, amused at his reply.

"It was long enough," Gawain said with a long-suffering sigh. He crossed his arms behind his head, stretching his tired muscles. "If we take a long voyage to Britain on a small ship, don't be surprised if we are minus a couple knights by the time we arrive." He gave an aggravated snort.

"A ship?" Ketchia asked, staring at Gawain. Having lived her life in the landlocked Sarmatia steppes, she had only heard about ships and boats in stories that had crept up from the tribes at the edge of the Black Sea.

"I hear that's the only way to get to an island," he said and then raised his eyebrows teasingly, "Unless you were planning on growing a pair of wings."

"Gawain!" Ketchia exclaimed, shaking her head at him even as laughter glimmered in her eyes, "What nonsense."

Gawain grinned at her. "Wings would suit you, Ket. Big, fluffy white ones."

Ketchia decided to play along with his jesting. She shrugged her shoulders as if situating a pair of wings and made a face. "Don't you think they would be a little awkward? I wouldn't be able to ride a horse well if they were very big. They might be injured."

"Maybe they could be small wings."

"But then they wouldn't be able to carry me."

"You're in a contrary mood, Ketchia," Gawain said as she staved off his attempts at creativity. Ketchia smiled at her and tossed her mane of dark brown hair with self-importance.

"Be glad it's not a foul mood, Gawain." The pair looked up to see Kay sitting on his horse behind them, his blue eyes narrowed in amusement through his pain. "A woman in a foul mood is worse than any woman in a contrary one."

"I think I might have to disagree with you on that," said Dagonet. The huge knight was riding close by the injured man. He crossed his arms over the saddle horn and held the reins in one hand. "A woman in a foul mood only throws things or burns your food. A woman in a contrary mood will turn you inside out with her words. Personally, I'd rather dodge a pot than face the vicious wrath of a woman."

"I'd rather have an obliging woman, myself," put in Lancelot, a strange smirk on his face. "Much less work involved." His smirk was a mixture of pleasure, teasing, and wickedness. For a second, Ketchia could have sworn that the moody boy was surprisingly handsome. Kay chuckled then hissed, grabbing at his side while his eyes screwed shut.

"Kay?" Lancelot asked, his voice riddled with worry. Ketchia was surprised to see him so concerned. Kay waved him off as he brought his horse closer.

"Fine, I'm fine," Kay said stubbornly, straightening up in the saddle.

"Of course you are, Kay," muttered Dagonet, shaking his head at Kay's determined attitude.

"I'm glad you agree with me, Dag," replied Kay, raising his chin defiantly.

"I agree with you like Khors would agree with Zeus," said Dagonet, leaning back in his saddle. Khors was the Sarmatian sun and fire god; his fiery temper and obstinate nature was legendary and supposedly ran throughout all Sarmatian blood. Ketchia snickered behind her hand as Kay glowered at Dagonet.

The thundering of hooves made everyone raise their heads. The front of the convoy had suddenly leapt into a canter, threatening to leave the group of stragglers behind. A Roman legionnaire trotted back towards them, his spatha drawn out in an attempt to give him an intimidating aura. He was the least imposing of the legionnaires; skinny and almost sickly, this particular Roman would not be able to get a dog to respect him.

"Get moving, you laggards!" He waved his sword around angrily while they only stared at him, unimpressed. "I mean it, you get those horses moving or I'll stab you straight through. You two walking there, start running!"

Gawain looked at Ketchia, and amusement passed between the two. This Roman was not worth the sword he carried, but here he was, threatening them. Ketchia shot the Roman an unmasked glare, an expression not normally found on her soft face. Dagonet slipped his horse in between the pair and the now highly annoyed Roman.

"Ketchia," he said, extending his hand to the girl. After she took it, he pulled her up onto his horse and looked over to Lancelot. The dark-haired boy understood the message and grudgingly nudged his black stallion towards Gawain. There was a short staring match between the boys before Gawain reluctantly climbed up onto Taron's broad back. Dagonet shared a smirk with Kay as Gawain and Lancelot both made faces at the unhappy Roman.

"Stop that. I mean it, rabble, stop mocking me!"

Lancelot gave a bark of a laugh before kicking Taron into a canter, sending him and Gawain past the Roman in short order. Dagonet would not allow Kay's horse to go any faster than a speedy walk, so they watched the convoy grow farther and farther away while the legionnaire rode behind them, nagging them to go faster without reward.

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"Gods, it's huge," breathed Ketchia, her brown eyes widening. It was the end of the first leg of their journey; the convoy had finally entered through the massive gates of the Roman port city of Ostia.

Tinus snorted and gathered the reins in. The mare was becoming jittery as hordes of people pressed in around her. The streets of Ostia were full of loud, bustling city-dwellers, store-owners, and travelers. "Yes, girl, it is huge. Rome is even larger."

Ketchia shivered at the thought. This city was impossibly large; how could Rome be any bigger?

She looked around at the monstrous place, trying to understand everything that was happening. A woman with a baby perched on her hip was yelling at a man running a stall, motioning towards his wares with determination. A man without legs was sitting on the steps of a building, holding out a cup to people passing by. Growls and horse's whinnies mixed with human shouts, and noise upon noise cluttered up the air until it was like wading through layers of sound. Brilliant colors were splashed across the people, the walls, everything. A wares-seller rushed up alongside Tinus's mare and shoved a jar of heavily scented oil in the legionnaire's face.

"For your wife, sir, for when you return home!" the man exclaimed, smiling toothlessly at Tinus. "You can put it on your slave girl, too, if that's what you like." Tinus kicked him away, a look of disgust on his face.

"Buzzards and flies, all of them," he muttered. Ketchia's breath came in short bursts, and she clutched at the saddle. Tinus noticed her strange behavior and turned his head around to look at her. "Too much for you, girl?"

She could not answer him. A reply would only add to the incredible amount of noise. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the legionnaire, burying her face into his cape as she tried to ignore the racket of the market and the overpowering smells.

After a few hours of navigating their way through the city, the convoy ended up at a military compound beside the docks. The wide-stretching ocean was visible from the front gates. While they were waiting for the compound guards to let them inside, the young knights crowded around the wall for a glimpse of the ocean.

"Go on, girl," Tinus said as Ketchia hesitated to join the others. "The salt air will be good for your head."

Nodding, she swung down from the mare's back. She swayed for a second, still dizzy from the sensory overload in the inner part of the city. A cool breeze hit her face, and Ketchia took a deep, relieved breath. It was calmer here, although there were many more legionnaires hanging around. Brushing a few dark brown strands of hair back from her face, Ketchia walked over to the other young knights.

"C'mere, Ket!" Bors shouted, motioning the girl over with his arm. When she was close enough, he grabbed her by the shoulder and thrust her in front of him, squashing her up against the low laying wall. "Ain't it a sight?"

"Yes…" breathed Ketchia, her eyes widening. The little strip of blue that she had seen when they were riding up had widened and became an endless expanse of water. Waves lapped up against the massive wooden vessels that were tied to the docks. The men crawling over the ships did not seem to notice the ocean before them; it was hard to believe that one could become used to such an awesome sight. It was almost like the plains of Sarmatia, endless, uncontainable. Ketchia smiled and glanced back at Bors, who was trying not to look gobsmacked. "Don't you like it, Bors?"

"Hmm," grumbled the big man, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's a mighty big lake. Too big, if you asked me. Could've used the water elsewhere."

"Oh, Bors, it's not too big," said Ketchia, shaking her head as she turned back to look at the water. "It's perfect."

"Does the ocean please you, Ket?" Kay asked as he appeared beside her, leaning over to rest his elbows on the top of the wall. The leader of the knights had lost almost signs of being injured since the wounds had scarred over. Ketchia had been quite smug when Kay had made it through, defying Tinus' predictions about his death.

She nodded, "It reminds me of home."

He affectionately ruffled her bedraggled brown hair. "I thought the same thing," he told her quietly. She grinned at him before turning around to look at the compound. Roman soldiers were pacing the tall stone wall tops; some of them were taking the time to look at the new Sarmatian recruits. Ketchia turned her eyes from them to the group of Romans that had brought them in. Most of them had dwindled away, heading inside the compound for what they probably felt was a well-deserved rest. They had gotten their herd of Sarmatians back to Ostia; now the boys were someone else's headache.

A frown touched her face as she remembered something Tinus had told her months ago. There was something that would happen to him when they reached Ostia…but she could not remember what it was. Her eyes darkening, she pushed past Bors and looked around at the faces of the remaining Romans. Where had he gone?

Ketchia walked back over to Tinus' mare. She had been left unattended, and she seemed agitated, her wide nostrils flaring while she pawed at the ground. Ketchia took her bridle and ran her fingers down the mare's neck, trying to soothe the horse. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed someone being led into the compound, his hands behind his back. Gasping, Ketchia dropped the bridle and sprinted towards the Romans. "Tinus!"

The Romans did not halt as the scruffy Sarmatian girl ran into the compound, her too-big boots slapping the ground. Tinus, hands bound roughly behind his back with coarse rope, was being marched in front of the convoy commander, Quintilius, and a pair of other legionnaires. The dusty ground blew about Ketchia's feet as she raced to his side.

"Stop! He hasn't done anything wrong!" Ketchia exclaimed, her pleading, confused eyes turned towards Tinus.

The old legionnaire shook his head at her, "Don't do something you'll regret, girl. This is my fate. I accept it, and you should do the same."

"No!" Ketchia shouted, her ember-like temper flaring into a fire. She remembered why they were arresting him. "They have no right to punish you because you don't believe in their God." Her hatred for Romans was blazing now. "You can't force someone to believe in something just because you say it's true!" Hands clenched into fists, she stopped in front of the Romans, forcing them to halt. "And you can't take away what they believe in either, not really. Even death cannot take away something you believe in."

"Pretty speech, little bitch," said Quintilius indifferently, his nose in the air as if she was something distasteful. "However, your insubordination will not be tolerated." Without warning, his hand went to the whip as his side. It flicked out like a snake's tongue, and Ketchia threw her hands up over her face, expecting to be lashed by the unforgiving leather. She heard someone shout her name and the crack of the whip as it hit flesh. Not her flesh, however, for there was no flame-lick sting.

Lowering her arms, Ketchia found Tinus standing in front of her, the whip wrapped around his torso. She gaped at him, unable to believe that he has sacrificed himself for her. "Tinus…"

"Ketchia," he said, breathing hard. Tears pricked her eyes as he spoke her actual name, not 'girl'. "Never close your eyes when an enemy is about to strike you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," said Ketchia, her voice breaking. She was roughly shoved away by a legionnaire, and she nearly stumbled to the ground. A pair of strong hands grabbed her upper arms and kept her standing as Tinus was led away, not once turning around to look at her. They forced him through a gated door and that was the last she saw of the man who had brought her all the way from her small village in the steppes of Sarmatia to the Roman city of Ostia.

"Come on," Dagonet's gruff yet comforting voice said from above her. She realized that he had been the one to catch her, and she turned around slowly to face him. His eyes were dark with a mix of sympathy and anger as he looked down at her and squeezed her arm reassuringly. Silently, she nodded and walked beside him, taking two steps for his one, as he headed back towards the others.

Avoiding the stares of the boys, Ketchia went to Tinus' mare and took the worn leather reins in her hand while a group of legionnaires started to round up the young knights. The mare whickered at her and nuzzled the girl's shoulder with her soft nose as the pair entered into the military compound.

A/N: I'M BACK!! Hehehe, sorry for the year long (?) wait…


End file.
